


firewhisky on ice, sunset and vine, you've ruined my life by not being mine

by DrJackAndMissJo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blaise POV, Blaise is whipped, Character Growth, Curses, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Neville is a badass planthead, Pls read this I've worked really hard on it, Slytherin Quartet, Swearing, There's Drarry too in the background, personal headcanons about Blaise Zabini, snogging in closets, those two idiots are my favourite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJackAndMissJo/pseuds/DrJackAndMissJo
Summary: Set throughout the course of their 6th year at Hogwarts, this story follows Slytherin's finest, Blaise Zabini, as he navigates classes and friendships and Death Eaters and a certain idiot plant-head Gryffindor.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Vincent Crabbe/Gregory Goyle
Comments: 46
Kudos: 171





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Taylor Swift's Gorgeous, but I modified it a little  
> DISCLAIMER  
> I don't own shit, as always. This has been in the works for six months almost and now it's finally here! Hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary in the notes!
> 
> Comment if you liked it!

Sixth year had started nicely: Blaise had been asked to join the Slug Club, and his mother had yet to find a new disposable rich husband and was leaving him the space to do whatever he wanted. Despite Draco's father being thrown in Azkaban and the sudden sulkiness of the blonde boy, the atmosphere wasn't much tenser than usual.

Sure, Draco probably was going to kill someone by the glares he gave and might have punched Saint Potter on the train, completely justifiable, and The Dark Lord had officially risen, sending everyone in a constant state of panic; but things were not that erratic, especially for a Slytherin Pureblood like him. The world was his oyster.

Which was why he was about to kick Pansy Parkinson off the Astronomy Tower.

They had agreed upon a seating chart that allowed all of them to maximize their brain capacities in order to gain as many House Points as possible. Since Draco was the Slytherin on top of every class, damned little miss perfect Granger and her habit of beating his friend up on the podium, the settlements revolved around the blonde and each individual strength. Pansy got Charms, her silver tongue finally useful on an academic level and not only on dark corners with older students; Theodore had Potions, his natural talent ready to expose himself in front of Slughorn, who had decided to keep him out of the little impromptu meeting on the train and to whom Theo had sworn vengeance; he would get Transfiguration, being the most skilled at changing various things in different states almost flawlessly and also due to the fact that he was the best behaved Slytherin. Amongst the members of Draco's Inner Circle anyway: Crabble and Goyle were bullies and lost causes, Millicent was as dull as a wall, Theo was too impulse, Draco was, well, _Draco_ and Pansy was, for lack of a better word, a bucchinara. Only Blaise was polite and respectful and tried to keep his personal vendettas hidden and managed to deal with them without a fuzz, and that, plus his innate aptitude for Transfiguration, meant he went along with Professor McGonagall pretty smoothly.

Which meant that Transfiguration was _his_.

The other classes were not as important and therefore their seatings could be random, but for those they came prepared. Slytherin was going to win the House Cup that year, unless Draco revealed that he was already a marked Death Eater, which would've made them lose a shitton of points but nothing more. After all, no one had ever been expelled from Hogwarts during Dumbledore's Reign and Blaise was positive it would never happen.

But he was about to get his first detention of the year, possibly, if that bitch didn't move. That would have not been a great way to start, but deep down he was sure it would've been worth it. "Pansy, move your white ass off that chair at this instant" he said through gritted teeth, barely moving his lips and avoiding creasing his flawless smile. _'Rule number one_ ' his mother had taught him, _'always appear kind and gentle and then stab them in the back and get them coins.'_

"Why would I do that, Zabini? I'm comfortable here" claimed the annoying girl that was very close to getting hexed, leaning back with a lazy smile on her face.

Blaise had many great qualities, but he also had no room in his body for bullshit. _'Rule number two: never hit first but obliterate them after they start. And don't forget, never ruin a manicure._ ' He mentally counted to ten, trying to calm himself before he did something he might've regretted, "We agreed yesterday on this" he said, slowly losing his patience. He had very little disregard for those who didn't appreciate his careful planning.

Pansy gave him a poisonous smile, her bold red lips giving her extra points in the vicious department. "Change of plans, pretty boy" she said, voice saccharine and melodious that managed to hide perfectly her true nature.

' _Rule number three_ ' his mind recalled ' _do not have witnesses nor explicit motif in case you do remove someone from this Earth'_. That threw a wrench in his immediate future.

Breathing deeply inwards and closing his eyes, he imagined the petite girl being slowly entrapped in a Devil's Snare and painfully dying. It made him feel instantaneously better. When he opened his eyes again, unfortunately, one of his main causes of stress was still there, now joined by Draco, who took the golden medal in the ' _giving Blaise headaches'_ category. His roommate was puzzled by the sight but decided not to complain and chose to poke holes into Saint Potter's head with his consistent stare.

Blaise wondered, not for the first time, what would've happened first, a make-out session in a broom closet between the Saviour of the Wizarding World and his friend, or a murder. Things would be less boring around Hogwarts if either event happened, even if the school was not boring to begin with.

One of the many topics he didn't agree on with Draco, especially this year, revolved around the blonde's complete annoyance to school life, despite maintaining stellar markings. Hogwarts was full of life and joy and unexpectedness.

Which was why Blaise didn't exactly want to start the year with a detention. "Very well" he said eventually, scanning the room for a proper desk to sit at. He would've avoided Gryffindors as if they carried the Plague, of course, but it seemed that the only empty chair was alongside one of them.

 _"Holy burning hell"_ he thought to himself, scolding his face into a bored and superior expression as he carefully watched Neville Fucking Longbottom casually reading his textbook with a Muggle pencil behind his ear. Blaise hadn't had all the time in the world back at the Hogwarts Express to see anyone other than his close friends, too much preoccupied to make a good first impression with Professor Slughorn to care about his fellow classmates, let alone someone as insignificant as _'Schlongbottom'_ , as the other Slytherins called him.

" _Boy oh boy, have I made a mistake!"_ his mind screamed.

He used to be lanky and chubby, but he must have definitely worked out during the summer, for he didn't look that way anymore. Under the shirt and vest, it was possible to see the beginning of some seriously well-kept muscles and, despite his slouched position, he an aura of confidence that he was missing the previous year. " _Fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry surely left its mark, uh?"_ he wondered as he watched the Gryffindor move his head to talk to Weasley. There were so many of them that Blaise couldn't be bothered to keep notice of them all, but he recognized the one into his year as a general individual, blending the remaining white boys into a general identity.

He was almost immediately broken from his mind and brought to reality: "I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes" Draco snickered as he also noticed the only empty spot in the classroom, drawing also Pansy's attention to his misery. The witch gave him another vicious smile, before slowly and purposefully turning into her seat as Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. She had won that round, but Blaise was positive the unexpected outcome would see him victorious as well. _'Rule number fifteen, ogling a hot person is a great past time._ '

Unbothered on the outside, he moved lazily towards the Gryffindor, noticing the surprise on the boy's face as he moved the chair next to him and took his place silently. Immediately he tensed, waiting for Blaise to attack him as his roommates had done many times, and it almost pained him to see all the confidence disappear under a cautious mask. But he had to give it to him, Longbottom didn't even flinch as he unceremoniously dumped his textbook and notebook on his side of the desk. He would've gotten a lot of dirty looks from his friends if he was somebody else carrying a Muggle object, but since he was Blaise Zabini no one said anything. After all, countless meters of parchment were as impractical as eating soup with a fork.

He also didn't miss the slightest nod of approval to ever been given him, directly from Professor McGonagall herself, before she began her first lecture of the sixth year.

And with that, they started.

***

Two hours later and with six pages of notes and the tiniest smidge of ink from a Muggle pen on his hands, _'I'll be damned if I have to write every day with a messy quill"_ , the lecture was over. Professor McGonagall had done a brilliant job as usual, with her being the most competent, if not the only, teacher in the school, but one thing was absolutely clear as day to Blaise: the recently very attractive Gryffindor boy seated next to him was absolutely useless at Transfiguration. His grandfather would've used the word chiavica with a disapproving look at his way and forced him to sit and eat twelve different dishes, as if that would've made him improve.

The problem wasn't that he lacked the proper concentration and magical talent, but rather that he wasn't as passionate about the subject as Blaise was. The boy had also taken countless notes, writing them at the corners of his book in a minute calligraphy with his Muggle graphite, and he seemed to grasp the general concept, yet failed almost comically at properly producing the magic.

Needless to say, the Slytherin dreaded the day his favourite teacher would give them a project to be done in pairs.

Not a single word had been uttered between the two boys, as it should have been. They had no communal interests nor any shared group of acquaintances, even if they were both Purebloods. Their Houses were rivals, their roommates were arch-nemesis, and yet here they both were, seated in silence next to each other.

But there had been guarded glances from both sides, of that he was sure. He looked at the Gryffindor with fretted disinterest, desperately trying not to get caught staring at the hot guy next to him like a creep, while Longbottom looked occasionally back with something akin of fear and disdain. He wasn't really surprised by the reaction and couldn't really blame him. Blaise wasn't sure if his family had remained neutral or had been hurt at the hands of Death Eaters before Saint Potter saved everyone, but nevertheless, the Slytherin house suffered an image decline due to their notorious works. The House reputation was turbid and getting dirtier by the hour, with all the alumni tarnishing the good name of their former house with their debauchery. Of course, not all Slytherins were evil, but it was the fucking coincidence of the majority of those evildoers being Slytherins that gave way to all the hate.

 _"You're just giving into the stereotype"_ he had ranted at Draco on the train, after the blonde told him the news, " _and yours is such a bloody shitton of bullshit l cannot tolerate anymore!"_

And just like that, the class was over and students packed their bags to migrate into their next lecture. He had now a free period, as the majority of his friends took Divination for reasons unknown to him, and decided to make it count as much as possible by staying in the library before going to 6th year History of Magic.

After signalling a little goodbye to his housemates, he turned around to the pretty useless boy next to him to begrudgingly salute him as well and perhaps ask him to trade place with someone less inept at the subject, only to find said incredibly tall and gorgeous beefcake standing in all his height with a bag draped over his shoulder. Despite the sudden tough exterior, he had a kind and polite smile and a softness in his voice that Blaise would've never guessed. "Apparently we have to seat next to each other now" he said with a shy tone, and then immediately went to nervously bite his lips. Blaise was dumbfounded, unable to form words at the sight hovering over him. He definitely wasn't the lanky boy he remembered.

Unsettled by his lack of response and probably taking his silence as a sign of disgust, Longbottom let out a shaky laugh, trying to ease the tension. Bringing a hand up to scratch his neck. "Look, I get it if you want to switch" he began, looking down at his shoes, "but I don't think Professor McGonagall would let us."

That brought him back on Earth. He had not mistaken the look of approval the Professor had given him and he'd be damned if he ever let down the best teacher Hogwarts had ever seen over something so futile as a seating partner.

Also it didn't hurt that his deskmate was a bloody vision, incompetent maybe, but most definitely his type. And now more than ever he needed to know for which team this asshole beat for.

"Yeah, no. I know, it's fine or whatever" he stuttered nonchalantly, knowing that he sounded dismissal while on the inside he was a bubbling mess. Trying to regain his composure and to remember his reputation, he spat out with as little venom as possible, "I guess there could be worse of you lot to sit next to."

 _"Wrong. Fucking. Thing. To. Say. Genius"_ his mind yelled as he internally cringed at his choice of words while maintaining a disinterested exterior. He saw the exact moment Longbottom's face went from kind and polite to pissed off. In all the years they had spent at school together they had never really talked or acknowledged each other's existence, not as much as he had with members of the other two Houses, yet Longbottom would've never stroke him as the type of person that could get angry.

" _That's cause you never spoke to him until now. Stop thinking with your dick"_ his brain fired as he rose from his seat and stood a few centimetres short of the Gryffindor. He had to admit that it was incredibly hard to stop thinking with his dick at the moment, but managed to maintain a neutral expression.

"Yeah, well. I guess so too" replied rather childishly the other boy, folding his arms over his chest and giving him what must've been his best glare. "I was trying to be polite, but I guess there is no way for a civilized conversation or partnership with you lot" he retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Now it was Blaise's turn to appear pissed and he mustered his worst killing glare, created by years of training, "Do not generalize me and I won't generalize you."

Longbottom was looking down at him, almost as if he was a puzzle that was not behaving. He supposed that from his perspective it was like that, since generally speaking they were supposed to hate each other's guts and here they were, one clearly trying not to lust for the other and the other apparently disapproving of the one's entire existence.

He eventually conceded, "Very well. See you around, Zabini." And with that Longbottom left, joining Thomas and that Fire Kid from his House.

Blaise was left alone, baffled and shocked, before he shook violently his head and left also the classroom and began walking in solitude towards the library.

This had the potential to become a great or a terrible year, and he supposed that the majority of the chances rested on the unexpected outcome of the Transfiguration class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> 'bucchinara' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone who gives blowjobs'  
> 'chiavica' is a southern Italian word that means 'someone that really really sucks at something'  
> Blaise knows those words because his Grandfather is from southern Italy.  
> HEADCANON!  
> Okay, so. Blaise's mom is french and his father is mixed: his paternal Grandfather is Southern Italian, either from Sicily or Calabria, his paternal Grandmother is Ethiopian. When Italy colonized those lands, she came as well and they met and fell in love and had Blaise's father, who unfortunately perished and was a Death Eater, despite Blaise's mother disapproval. Blaise has spent a lot of time with his Grandparents and learnt their language and uses Italian, especially curses, cause, let's face it, sometimes English bad words are a little borng.  
> Thank you for listening to my Headcanon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary in the notes!
> 
> Comment if you like it!

_'Dittany is a powerful healing herb and restorative and may be eaten raw to cure shallow wounds.'_

Blaise had read that same sentence for the 24th time. Had counted each time his eyes went up on the page towards the words that were now permanently marked in his memory, yet so far out of his grasp. It wasn't that _'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi'_ was a boring book. To someone truly passionate about the subject it might actually be quite enjoyable, but it was a textbook and textbooks are not supposed to be entertaining. Unless you were a freak as Granger, but her distorted mentality was not his to judge.

Sighing, he rested his head on the table he was studying on, careful not to make too much noise. Madam Pince and her fine hearing were simply awful to anyone who merely breathed too loudly in the library. _"One more time and if I can't do it then I'll try again later after dinner"_ he told himself, on the verge of despair.

He simply couldn't understand. Charms came easy to him, even Potions with Snape wasn't that hard to follow, even if he was a mess at teaching it: brilliant man and head of the house, but all over the place and really, really terrible at sharing knowledge. Even in his current new position as Defence Against the Dark Arts, he wasn't that great, and that was the job he had lusted after, for years.

But flowers and herbs, those were is Achilles's heel. The worst part was that it seemed to come naturally to Bloody Longbottom.

Perfect asshole with his neat notes at the margins of his books and his terrible grasp of changing shit from their original form, but despite all that was better than a few of his housemates and studied hard to maintain his acceptable level in Transfiguration. Bloody moron who simply could understand what Professor Sprout meant to say even before she said it, who had the best grades in Herbology, who laughed tilting his head backwards whenever Saint Potter or one of his friends made a joke that was particularly funny, who seemed to be everywhere since their first Transfiguration lecture together.

Blaise was so screwed.

He had now begun to have a hard time concentrating during the class he seated with the Gryffindor, his mind wandering to the bloody fingers tapping lightly over the desk as he scrunched his nose up in concentration.

He was so bloody screwed.

' _Rule number eight, if you can't get someone out of your head, make sure you're stuck in theirs also.'_

But it wasn't that easy, was it? For one, despite being 100% positive of his sexuality, he hadn't told anyone but his mother, who was really supportive and immediately shared all her rules for landing a hot and rich husband. At that time he had laughed, almost uncomfortable, but now he was sure her set of rules was going to be a lifesaver, and not only when boys were concerned.

Second, he did not know whether or not Longbottom shared his likings and had absolutely no way of figuring it out. Sure, he had gone to the Yule Ball two years prior with the Female Weasley and hang out now with Loony Lovegood and the rest of the moronic Gryffindors, but there was nothing that betrayed his heart's true desires. He had no one in their circle to ask to, and was pretty sure that cute, shy, jacked, nervous and downright hot Longbottom, " _damn Salazar why even his_ surname _had to have such a sexual innuendo?",_ wasn't out or anything. Maybe he was still figuring it all out?

Groaning, he rose up to his feet, unable to concentrate on fucking dittany without losing his mind for one second more. Bloody Longbottom with his very nice ass made his way into his mind and suddenly Blaise's pants felt way too tight for his own comfort and he had to adjust his robe. He closed roughly his book, placing it in his bag alongside his notebook and pens and highlighters, avoiding Madam Pince's burning glare at the unwanted noise.

He began to quickly make his way towards the Great Hall, wondering what would be there for dinner and completely lost in thought. In the back of his mind, he could feel his mother's voice telling him _'Rule number twelve, always be conscious of your surroundings',_ but his brain couldn't stop wandering, his body relying only on muscle memory to not walk into walls.

Unfortunately, muscle memory wasn't that reliable when taking into account other moving people and objects. Which was why he had ended on the floor, landing on his ass and soundly cursing whoever was the bloody "pezzo di merda di doxy" that still hadn't learnt how to walk.

His mother was always controlled and poised and he had never heard a bad word coming from her red painted lips, but his paternal grandparents were a different kind of people. His grandfather’s favourite word was, alongside of other Italian curses, a very pointed minchia. He used it almost on each sentence, changing the intonation to accommodate a different meaning. Most of the time he added to the equation a variety of gestures that, given the situation, assumed a rather crude sense.

His Nonna was slightly more PG, preferred not to use certain words, especially in front of Blaise, but she still told her husband to fuck himself in whichever language she was thinking at the moment and taught him her fair share of Ethiopian hexes.

"You came onto me, genius" the idiot that had **clearly** gone **into** him said, rather angrily sounding. " _Ma porca di quella puttana " _Blaise thought, of course his rotten luck would make him crash into the long legged Gryffindor he was just daydreaming of.

Remembering who he was and finally stopping acting like a ridiculous hormonal dork, he rose from the floor, trying to look menacing despite being the shorter one in this debate. "No, good sir, you appeared out of nowhere" he said, sounding sturdier and surer than he'd thought. He was rather proud of his impeccable composure, until the other boy spoke with a sly smirk on his lips, "Haven't taken my apparition exam yet so can't just do that."

Blaise's brain stopped working immediately. Deep down he knew that anyone, even someone as dull and bland as a Gryffindor, could surprise him, and so far the dumb dork had surpassed all his expectations, excluding the ones on Transfiguration. But he simply couldn't picture sweet, shy, formerly chubby, _Schlongbottom_ as someone who knew how to talk back, especially with such an authoritative tone. The mere thought did funny things to his body.

Questions began to swim all around his mind: Was this real or a hallucination caused by his very recent fall? Since when did this bloody plant-head even know sarcasm? How was it possible for someone to become even more attractive?

Did Blaise mention that he was so fucking screwed?

"What, cat got your tongue?" Longbottom asked smugly, visibly pleased with himself.

In that moment Blaise swore off any possible feeling that wasn't related to hatred or anger towards the idiot in front of him. "I don't reply to morons such as yourself" he said, mustering a casual and bored tone he didn't know he had. _"Bloody superb_ " he thought proudly as he watched the Gryffindor's gaze harden.

He suddenly didn't enjoy the turn their conversation had taken.

Longbottom then briskly shoved his forgotten Herbology textbook, _"when did he even picked it up?"_ , and stormed off to the other side of the empty corridor, towards the glasshouse, without uttering a single word.

"Great Hall's on the other side, idiota" he yelled at his slowly stepping away back, "You're gonna be late for dinner." Blaise couldn't care less, of course, but the impulsive part of his brain wanted to get the Gryffindor's attention for a little bit longer.

Longbottom stopped dead on his track, turning sideways to look back at Blaise and giving him the perfect side view of his backside, as well as of his front. " _Ammazza oh. "_ was the only thought that filled his mind before registering that the other boy was speaking: “Not that's any concern of yours, but I gotta get some Baneberry for my toad."

He was speechless. It was explicitly forbidden to take even the most innocuous weed from the glasshouses and classes, even during lectures to study them afterwards, yet this bloody Gryffindor marched towards the door as if he owned the place. He knew Longbottom had the best grades and was clearly their Professor's favourite since he fainted in excitement on their second year at their first class, but _damn._

Astonished, he couldn't stop himself from blunting possibly the dumbest sentence ever: “But Professor Sprouts doesn't let us take any of her plants outside our designated scheduled time!"

The other boy had the audacity to _grin_ , viciously and borderline dangerously and porca miseria it was getting hotter under his robe by the second. "Maybe to the rest of this school" Longbottom said, his shoulders squared and posture tense, "But I'm her assistant and have her blessings to do whatever the hell I want in any of the greenhouses, however dangerous it might be. So taking an innocuous plant for my toad isn't gonna get me expelled before I can say _'Quidditch'_ "

Blaise did definitely misread the look the Gryffindor gave him, thinking it hinted something while it was only meant as a superiority glance, and he was definitely thinking with his dick now.

Longbottom merely turned around, unbothered by his silence, and walked forward towards the glasshouse for the 2nd year, unaware that Blaise was still rooted on his spot, trying to regain his footing and willing his body to direct the blood back into his legs, failing miserably.

He was in such deep shit it would almost be laughable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> "Pezzo di merda di doxy" means 'piece of doxy shit'  
> "Minchia" is a commonly used curse word, especially in southern Italy; it literally can mean both penis or vagina, depending on where you're from, but most commonly is referred to the female genital; it is typically used in the same way as the English 'fuck' to curse  
> "Nonna" is Grandmother  
> "Ma porca di quella puttana" again, another curse; literally is 'that fucking bitch' or something along those lines, but here it is used as an expression of disbelief, like 'you gotta be kidding me'  
> "Idiota" is idiot  
> "Ammazza oh", literally "Kill it oh", is the equal of a long whistle, mostly of approval  
> "Porca miseria" is "that rotten luck", and is used to express discomfort or as the English 'holy shit'
> 
> I'm sorry for all those curse words! I deeply apologize!
> 
> Bonus:  
> When Neville turns around all he can think is either "Shitshitshitshit" and "Damn he's hot but I’m Str8. I think, but damn I'd tap that."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary in the notes!  
> Comment if you liked it!!!

"Sorry, Blaise. Can't today." That had been the customary answer from none other than Draco Malfoy, prefect and general pain in Blaise's ass, despite still being one of his best friends. Since they had started their lectures, there had been an incredible array of excuses left and right, but enough was enough and all the brain abled Slytherins agreed it was time for an intervention.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Theo began protesting, in his usual disarmingly calm behaviour: "You've been saying that since the year started!" he all but yelled at the blonde, visibly losing his temper already. 

"I'm busy okay, back off" came a defensive reply that left something to be expected, yet refused to lead on more.

"No, we're not backing off on this anymore" said Blaise, still seated down in front of his irritating Herbology textbook. He could also feel his temper rising, but managed to keep it contained, remembering the neat way the muscles of a certain Gryffindor boy pulled wherever he scribbled a tiny note on a piece of parchment and choosing to focus on that to remain calm. He was really grateful they didn't have a  _ legilimens _ in their house, otherwise things would've been even more awkward that usual. "Is this because of your new fancy position?" he asked, mustering as little discomfort as possible in his words, although the mere idea bothered him infinitely.

Draco's face paled of all its blood, eyes darting to look behind them all and to asses that nobody was spying on their conversation. "You know very damn well I can't talk about it!"

"Draco, you shouldn't keep secrets, you'll get wrinkles!" said Pansy, gazing her perfectly manicured fingers as lazily as possible. Blaise had wondered for their entire first year if she truly did not care about anything in the world or if that was an act, but quickly discovered that she cared  _ way too much _ on occasion and it was smothering to say the least.

But her nonchalant remark snapped Draco out of his mind, and he replied with a hissed "Shut the fuck up Parkinson or I'll hex you into next week."

Blaise and Theo both laughed at the attempted threat, doubling over themselves in laughter as Pansy snickered sprawled over her chair. "How, may I ask, do you suppose to do so?" she asked, her blood red lips gleaming from the light of the fireplace in front of her, "You haven't been paying attention to class as much as you used to. You spend all your time daydreaming or staring at Saint Potter's tush" she added in a matter of fact way, voicing the thought they all shared.

Whether Draco was distracted by whatever dirty deed the Death Eaters wanted him to do or by Saint Potter and his rather objectively well shaped backside, formed finely by years of riding a broom and training, he was still distracted nevertheless, and that wouldn't do well on their collective well-being.

The blonde moved abruptly back, yelling such a forced "I DO NOT" that nobody in their right state of mind would believe. It wasn't as if Draco was out and proud or had even remotely hinted anything, but merely from a muggle statistic point of view, a class which his mother had forced Blaise to attend during the summer and he was incredibly grateful for, it was most probable that he was some sort of queer than anything else. He spent way too much time preparing himself to even see Saint Potter in the hallways, messing his hair and slicking it back countless of times to just  _ "show him and his loser group of friends that we're so much better!" _ , to be even remotely straight. All of them would still love and care for him either way, as they would for Blaise, but the young boy understood the blonde's reluctance to share that little piece of information.

"Yes, you do, you queer puff. Don't deny it" continued Pansy, not wanting to let the subject drop and inevitably side-tracking from their original battle plan. Many headaches of Blaise's were caused by Pansy's inability to follow a scheme and still the only cure he could think of was to remove her head from her shoulders and leave it on the fireplace. That would've lightened his tension for sure!

But Draco was having none of it: suddenly as red on his face as a Gryffindor robe, he stood up from the couch and began walking away towards the dormitory door, leaving their intervention unfulfilled and useless. Another reason behind Blaise's headaches was Draco's ability to ruin all his bloody plans and intentions.

"Enough with this bullshit" he called back, looking distraught and uneasy, "I don't need your help and surely you don't need mine so kindly fuck off all of you. Let me know when you drop all this crazy shit!"

Blaise followed suit, exiting through the portrait after his friend and catching him up once he was near the staircases. "The fuck you want now?" asked the blonde, ire and hatred lacing his words. Despite it all, Blaise couldn't help but notice how his roommate was shaking, fear deep in his eyes. 

He knew he should've tried to comfort, he knew he should've been patient, yet he couldn't bring himself to: while it was true that Draco didn't want to get in those awful games the adults of his family played, he still swore to fulfil whatever duty was asked from him, without mentioning it to his best friends and closest allies. He had a choice and choose to cower before the Dark Lord, he gave in to the threats and the violence and the bloody stereotype that Slytherins were evil murderers. 

So when he spoke finally, they weren't kind words those that came out of him: "I would've loved to spend some time with you, you stupid bitch, even if it was studying, cause we rarely even see each other anymore. You're so busy either stalking Potter or doing Salazar knows what on the fifth floor." He saw Draco's eyes widen, the fear turning into full panic and then blow away as if nothing had fazed him in usual Malfoy Manner. Another headache was coming and Blaise wondered if he could go to Madam Pomfrey and ask her " _ oh hello! Do you have anything to rid me of those terrible pains inflicted by my awful Death Eater roommate, along of those terrible housemates of mine? _ ". Now, that would surely be an interesting reaction.

"Shut up, Zabini, you don't even know what you're talking about!" Draco whispered violently, checking that nobody was eavesdropping in the empty corridor. "Well why don't you start explaining?" he fired back, standing his ground with his full height and towering over the blonde, who looked like he was about to pass out at any given moment.

" Merde " he said eventually, after having gathered his thoughts, "I cannot talk to anyone about this, okay? Not even you, no matter how hard you push. He'll kill my mum if I don't do it!" He sounded more exasperated than scared now, as if he had already rehearsed that same conversation, probably with himself.

Still, Blaise needed all the answers he could get, "You mean…?"

"Yeah."

" Porca puttana Eva ." He passed a hand over his face, going straight to his shortly cut hair as if to ground himself. He had had doubts, of course, anyone in their right mind would have them and he was really surprised nobody from Saint Potter's squad was onto him like a guard dog. But thinking is one thing, having those thoughts acknowledged and confirmed was another topic entirely. Blaise felt as if the ground would open up from the stone under their feet and swallow them both whole.  _ "Worse ways to go _ " he thought blandly.

"Indeed. So all I can ask all of you to do is cover for me and have faith in what I'm doing."

He uttered a dry laugh, trying to hide the nervousness that conversation was suddenly giving him. "How can we do it if you don't even trust us?" he asked roughly, hurt and very pissed off.

Draco now looked in full disbelief, as if he had never enthralled the thought of someone not following him blindly before. He supposed it might be true, since in their previous years he was always eager to agree with the blonde. But after their fiasco with Umbridge, Blaise swore to took with a grain of salt everything. Including his friendships.

"How can  _ I _ trust you lot? I'm marked. I swore an oath. When the time is right you'll be too and we'll take back what's rightfully ours."

"You talk like a madman, and hopefully I'll never have a seat at that table" he said, stumbling backwards.  _ 'Rule number thirteen: men are easily lead and get foolish as soon as they get a taste for any type of power or violence. Do not become like one of those' _ his mother told him and he didn't plan on disappoint her anytime soon.

"I'm gonna go back and study for the quiz tomorrow, and I highly suggest you do to" he said dryly after a while, regarding his friend with as little interest and concern as he could. And he then turned around, ignoring Draco's feeble attempt to snatch his attention back. For a seeker, he was trash at his job.

As soon as he crossed the threshold of the portrait, he was flooded with questions from his fellow housemates, but they all immediately shut up at the thunderous look on his face. Theo seemed to catch on and simply raised an eyebrow at Blaise, who pointedly ignored his roommate and moved back to his Herbology textbook. There had been whispers among the Pureblood Slytherins, many parents having fallen back into old habits and already planning the coming of their children. Blaise had not truly acknowledged those words, choosing to ignore them, never revealing his disdain towards so many of his friends' families. 

His father had been amongst those and had perished when his mother was still pregnant, and she and his grandparents had raised him to loathe that idiotic, medieval, misogynistic and racist behaviour. " _ White idiots think like that, and you are neither"  _ had told him his mother the first time he had brought up the Dark Lord and his antics. He agreed.

Struggling to concentrate, he tried to remember if asphodel was considered by the ancient Greeks the food of the dead or of the nymphs, but his mind was full of worries.

He definitely needed to go to the infirmary for a headache remedy very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:  
> "Merde" s French for "shit" cause we all know that Draco's pretentious ass swears in French  
> "Porca puttana Eva" Is basically "Holy burning shit" literally is "that fucking bitch of Eve"


	4. Chapter 4

Acceptable. A fucking A in Herbology class, all thanks to the idiot Death Eater on a secret mission that refused to proofread his essay on Niffler’s Fancy. What the hell was Niffler’s Fancy?

Blaise was livid, murderous, on a path to righteous vengeance.

It was the last round of examination of November, meaning that in less than a month their first section of the year would wrap up. Grades were already decided then, and he could not, for all the Work and Effort Salazar Slytherin had put into building the Chamber of Secrets, have anything lower than Outstanding. He’d allow himself a single Exceeds Expectations in Herbology, but never an Acceptable. That didn’t ‘ _threw a wrench in his plans_ ’, as Pansy had mockingly said that morning; it utterly ruined his future career and he would not, for the life of him, let a stupid plant destroy everything he had worked hard for.

In the past, he had always managed fine in the class, even with some difficulties: who was he to understand whether the green leaves were ripe enough for a change of pots and why should he care, after all. If it was up to him, the pots would be charmed to automatically know those kinds of things, yet Professor Sprout refused his suggestion. Actually docked Slytherin of 5 points, which he then got back in Transfiguration.

In the past, he could count on a best friend who was as competitive as he was, to help him focus and study something he truly hated, that read through his essays and corrected the very few mistakes and that let him sometimes borrow his own work. It wasn’t cheating, it was collaboration. A currency that was well used in the Slytherin common room. It wasn’t as if Draco didn’t receive his share: au contraire, he rarely did Transfiguration on his own, always aided by Blaise, who, in turn, shared his own work.

That was a fool-proof way to succeed.

But of course Draco Fucking Malfoy had to mess up yet another thing and utterly wreak Blaise’s carefully thought plans.

He had to find a solution, as soon as possible. He had to get at least O on the next essay on the effects of _Lumos Solem_ on the _Devil’s Snare_ , otherwise he could easily kiss goodbye to his nearly perfect grades. He could easily ace the charm part of his composition, for obvious reasons, and probably would’ve managed to get an E rather easily, but he simply couldn’t allow the opportunity to slip.

He had to get an O, no matter the cost.

Which was why Blaise Zabini, renowned Sixth Year Slytherin, Pureblood, Heartthrob, Genius and overall Perfect in Every Way, remained seated on his chair in the greenhouse they currently used for their studies, glaring at his roll of parchment that had failed him once again and checking with the corner of his eyes the quickly emptying room. To anyone, he looked as if he was just packing up slowly, with a bored expression on his face.

In actuality, he was waiting. Waiting for Neville Longbottom to stop being a perfect assistant and leave the room so he could corner the Gryffindor and make his offer. Did he really have to fucking rearrange all the plants on the west side of the room and to colour coordinate the entire glove section right at the moment?

Blaise was desperate, that much was true, but he had his limits: if the bloody plant-head wasn’t done in the next two seconds, he’d accept his fate. Or so he told himself, until said boy moved to grab his seat to fix his bag, springing Blaise to hasten his own process and quickly leave the room before the other boy.

Once he was out of the door, he checked the corridor. While he wasn’t doing inherently illegal per se, he was still one of the best and most prominent Slytherins, and he definitely couldn’t be seen border-lining begging for help from _Schlongbottom_ of all the people. Even Granger might’ve been a better choice at this point, and only because she was the best at everything.

Taking a deep breath, he rehearsed once more his offer in his head, conscious that he had to sound convincing and stern, while also seeming approaching and focused. He had calculated everything: the words, the pace, the stance.

“Excuse me?” came a deep voice from behind him, startling him out of his mind. He had spaced out in the moment of need and was blocking the door to the greenhouse, with a very timidly looking Longbottom staring sheepishly at him.

“ _How in the actual fuck is he managing to be hot and cute at the same time?”_ Blaise’s mind took shortcut, shifting its gears into a totally different direction than the one meant at the beginning.

He was speechless. His great offer forgotten, he was looking up at the dorky Gryffindor with what he hoped was a puzzled expression and not a starstruck one. It had become his Achille’s Heel: during their Transfiguration classes, Blaise had found his mind wander towards the other boy, whenever Professor McGonagall wasn’t talking; in the Great Hall, he would turn around and see him with his group of Gryffindors and he’d be rendered baffled by his bright laugh, or, in several occasions when he didn’t have full control over his brain, he’d actually look for Longbottom, whether by scanning over the crowds to see his head or by being in places where he might be as well, even if those were more on the ‘ _accidental encounter_ ’ side. He had once remained stuck in the library, looking for a book, cause he had caught a glimpse of the Gryffindor studying with a muggle pencil on his bottom lip. Needless to say, he didn’t do many productive and public things that day.

Suddenly, one of his mother’s rules made him remember who he was and what his mission was: ‘ _Rule number sixteen: do not, under any circumstances, act foolishly around the person you like._ ’ And so he tried not to.

“Longbottom” he began with a cold and distant voice, trying not to seem nervous but slowly boiling inside, “I would like to make you an offer.”

“Zabini” the other boy said, instantly frying Blaise’s brain as he fixed his bag on his shoulder and moved to lean against the doorframe, “what makes you think I would even consider accepting?” That was very much not part of the plan. He wasn’t prepared for Longbottom to talk back with such confidence and all his blood rushed downwards, leaving his brain and making him forget his façade. He was once more dumbly staring, mouth slightly agape as he tried to recompose himself as quickly as possible.  
He cleared his throat once, to mask his discomfort, before proudly announcing: “It would be extremely beneficial for both of us.”

Once again, bloody Longbottom did something that wasn’t scripted in Blaise’s plan: he rose up a questioning eyebrow, looking him up and down and studying him silently for a few heartbeats. It was a furnace under his robes and he was positive he might combust any moment. Longbottom didn’t flirt with anyone, for crying out loud, so Blaise didn’t have a single way to tell if he was being mistaken in his assumption or not! He also was not aware of the other boy’s sexuality, therefore the territory was not only risky in terms of rejection but also in terms of safety. “ _Rule number four: don’t put yourself in dangerous positions._ ”

Eventually, the Gryffindor spoke again, sounding interested but casual at the same time: “Well, if that’s the case, do tell, why me?” he asked with a sly smirk on his face, sight that sent another rush of blood down Blaise’s pants. It clearly had to be meant to be an innuendo. Had to.

Yet Blaise choose to play on the safe side, just that once, because he still was not sure about anything and he desperately needed all the help he could get. “ _Also, tutoring each other means we’ll work really close and who knows what’s gonna happen in time. Keep it in your pants, Zabini, and finish what you started!”_

He bit the inside of his cheek and nervously glanced around the empty corridor, before turning once more towards that freaking tall and slightly ripped plant-head and said: “It pains me to admit it, but you’re the best at Herbology in this gods forsaken school and Salazar help me, if I don’t pass this class with at least an E I’ll burn the ministry to the ground.”

Longbottom seemed to be taken aback by that: either Blaise’s honesty shocked him or he had indeed seen other paths those first sentences lead to. Not too bad, they’d have the time to explore those after the Devil’s Snare essay. Which he had to ace flawlessly, he reminded himself, trying not to get distracted by the hand the Gryffindor had brought behind his neck to scratch it.

“Why not directly the school?” he asked suddenly.

“We have another year to attend here and the ministry is a shitty place” came the easy answer, truthful and honest. Hogwarts was not a bad place and the Ministry could stand a renovation, both in terms of building and furniture, and as organization as well. Especially with the new developments, that place was now filled up with vicious rats.  
“Gotta agree on that” Longbottom admitted, undoubtedly having his own ghosts regarding the place after his and his friends’ little escapade to the Department of Mysteries. “But you said it’d be mutually beneficial? I can’t see how” he continued, a curious gleam in his eyes sparkling.

That was a topic Blaise had practiced over and over, and he was comfortable with it: “It’s really easy. I noticed you are, for a lack of a better word, a little lacklustre when it comes to Transfiguration and I’d thought I’d offer my services in exchange for your help with those stupid plants.” He did derail off track at the end, mainly because the shame of having an A still burnt him and also due to the fact that plans were, indeed, rather stupid.  
Longbottom moved quickly into a defensive stance, “Plants are not stupid. Think of how many you use daily, sounds stupid to you?” he asked with a sudden aggressiveness on his tone that Blaise had never heard from him and couldn’t particularly say he minded. _“You haven’t really talked much with him outside of immediate necessity. Stop thinking with your dick!”_

He quickly tried to return on his original path, claiming: “We have different priorities, I love Transfiguration and you like pretty green leaves.”

“They’re not just green!” Longbottom muttered in a quiet voice, sounding entirely too adorable for Blaise’s brain to handle. Coughing and hoping his cheeks weren’t reddening, he tried to regain his composure after having turned in a very metaphorical mush at the scene in front of him.

“You can think about my offer, but I’d like to know before next week” he said, waving a dismissal hand and moving to walk away towards the staircases for his next class. He was almost near the library when he heard Longbottom talk, “We have a Transfiguration revision on Friday, don’t we?” Turning, Blaise nodded slightly at the approaching boy. “That would be correct, Longbottom.”  
“Well then, Zabini,” he said, either accidentally or purposefully dropping his voice an octave and utterly destroying any futile attempt of Blaise’s to focus on anything afterwards, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow after History of Magic in the empty classroom two doors after the Charms corridor.” Blaise was rooted on the spot as the Gryffindor adjusted once more his bag and slowly walked away from him.

Almost as in an afterthought, he tilted his head backwards and stated pointedly: “Wouldn’t want anyone seeing me study with a snake. Is the feeling mutual?” He finished his sentence with what Blaise assumed was a wink, yet with only half a face showing it was impossible to tell.

He remained there, uselessly dumbfounded even after the other boy had left, for Merlin knew how long, trying to remember how to function.

Blaise was so incredibly screwed and briefly wondered if he had made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:  
> Neville: “Ginny I did as you suggested and appeared confident and shit and I felt so powerful and does that make me gay?”  
> Ginny: “No, Nev, we agreed you like both boys and girls.”  
> Neville: “Yeah but I like Blaise”  
> Ginny: “A SLYTHERIN? IN THIS ECONOMY?”  
> Luna “It’s more likely than you’d think”  
> Ginny: “Not now Luna. What you’re gonna do?”  
> Neville: “Idk but he told me he’d help me study so I’m not gonna waste the opportunity, I’ll flirt when there are no books around us cause otherwise I’ll end up with a Troll in Transfiguration”  
> Luna: “A Troll in Transfiguration is always better than a Troll in the Dungeons.”
> 
> btw Professor Sprout sees them talk and she ships them!


	5. Chapter 5

He looked absolutely dashing, that much he was positive of. He and his date matched and looked powerful, and Hogwarts was, once again, his oyster fully.

Melissa was very easy to convince: she was the only seventh year Ravenclaw that took Potions that hadn’t been invited to the party, due to her aunt being affiliated with Death Eaters in the past, and therefore jumped at the opportunity to show up, even as a plus one. The conversations they had had so far were interesting and polite, but he knew she favoured girls in secret and she knew he preferred boys, even if said boys happened to be dorky and lanky Gryffindor idiots.

Overall, their evening was going to be incredibly fine. Everyone would envy them and everyone should, after all.

Arriving perfectly five minutes after than the invite said, late enough to be noticed but early enough not to make a classic ‘figura ‘i mmerda’, as his Grandfather said, while people began mingling and flooding the room.

It was astonishing: only the true elite had been selected to attend, everyone bringing their escorts to this high society and granting a night of class entertainment to those less fortunate and talented; Slughorn had equipped waiters and had also decorated finely the room to grant the event even more luxury. Even the Weird Sisters were playing!

Without a shadow of a doubt, Horace Slughorn was a brilliant wizard who managed to raise up to the Slytherin House for positive reasons, without giving it a bad reputation, and Blaise was immensely grateful for it and fascinated by him.

His eyes scanned the room as he entered with his arm liked to his escort: he could see Pansy drape herself over a seventh year Hufflepuff as if she was a curtain, showing off her curves in the tight emerald dress that was scandalously cut in the back. She had always had a talent regarding clothing, was perfectly able to conjure a piece that somehow looked both classy and trashy, granting great emphasis of her abilities as a zoccola. Granger was accompanied by McLaggen, for reasons fathomless to him: despite being a Muggle-born, Granger was a rather talented witch that would’ve been perfect as a Slytherin, way more than a few of his housemates, and McLaggen was a spoiled brat who was used to people blowing his nose whenever he needed to sneeze, duller than a bezoar and far less interesting that a hoo-hoo.

Saint Potter was there as well, accompanied by Loony Lovegood, who looked positively adorable in her brightly coloured dress. Blaise made a mental note to compliment her on the choice, while pointedly ignoring Saint Potter, who was getting way too much attention for anyone’s sanity. Professor Slughorn was clinging at his arm as if his life depended on it, introducing him proudly to his guest and parading him off as a trophy.

Surely that was not the way Potter wanted his night to go, considering he had a tendency to shy away from the spotlight, yet Blaise could perfectly understand the Potions Professor tactic: he was, after all, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, a hero despite his lack of action during the first war, and Slughorn was a collector above all; while others scouted for antiquities or paintings, he assorted powerful and talented individuals to his own little society and to his own gain.

Blaise desperately wanted to be like that man.

Turning to his date, they untangled from each other and began moving towards the room, both looking for their own personal goals and opportunities with the many powerful guests that mingled in the room.

***

He was in the middle of a semi-heated conversation with the vampire Sanguini when he saw him.

They were discussing about the cultural and ethical differences of obtaining blood from willing people, offering out of their own mind, versus the toxic complex of a master with his drudge. Blaise knew he would have a hard time explaining his point and standing his ground, yet he was compelled to speak up at a particular comment the vampire had made earlier in their conversation. Previous topics were soon discarded, as Sanguini pointed out also the hypocrisy of the wizarding community, shunning vampires for their ‘ _loyal_ _subjects’_ while also keeping house elves and breeding them with the sole purpose of serving. Blaise agreed on the topic in particular and was about to find and fetch Granger to have her join the conversation, considering her past attempt at house elves’ freedom with her short lived and not very popular S.P.E.W., until a swift movement of a serving dish caught Blaise’s eye.

_“You’ve got to be kidding me”_ he thought as he followed the silvery trail and saw the waiter. Astonishingly, the simple tight cut pair of black dress pants did wonders for the already pretty shaped behind, while the white jacked clung perfectly to his shoulders as if it was sown on.

How had he missed the tall and bulky figure this whole time? Blaise was petrified, his eyes blown wide as he regarded Longbottom backside with all the reverence that it deserved. His hair was slicked back and tamed, and he already itched to run his fingers throw it to ensure the suspected softness of the strands. _“Someone like that must have nice hair_ ” he thought, trying to return back into the conversation, yet failing to look away as Longbottom continued to offer little appetizers to Slughorn’s guests.

“Ah, I see” said the vampire in a thick accent, breaking him out of his stupor and bringing him back to reality. Blaise focused his attention back to him, expecting his point to have finally reached his brain and getting back an infuriating smirk from Sanguini, who know looked at Blaise as if he knew all of his secrets. “What exactly do you see?” he fired back immediately, maintaining a polite smile while planning to stab the vampire with his wand. It would probably be messy but immensely worth it.

Sanguini licked his lips, fangs glistening as his eyes scanned the room for Eldred Worple, finding the short man once again crowding Saint Potter about a biography. No matter how discomforted the Gryffindor looked, the author simply didn’t seem to understand that it was about time to let it drop. “You are in a position I am familiar with” said the vampire, looking back to Blaise with piercing dark eyes.

“I have absolutely no idea of what you’re speaking of” stated the Slytherin, trying to maintain a casual stance and looking for his date to escape the situation. “It is okay” continued Sanguini, dragging the syllables, “I won’t tell. I understand that in your society it is not something to be shared, _ja_?”

Blaise was speechless. He had never had actual confirmation from anyone like him, all there ever was, was speculation. Especially with dark times coming, it wasn’t safe. He himself had not told anyone, with the exception of his mother, even if he was positive about his preferences, and didn’t really plan of anyone finding out, despite trying to pursuit a dumbass Gryffindor, but clearly missing his target.

“Does that mean that you and Eldred…?” he asked timidly, not daring to finish his sentence in case someone might overheard them. He did not know the man personally, but he didn’t want to put him into a bad position. _“The higher you are, the harder you fall_ ” he reminded himself.

The vampire smiled then, “Yes. Why else would he bring _me_ as his plus one? For my conversation skills?” he confirmed as his partner approached with an equally soft smile on his lips. “Sanguini, come with me, I want to introduce you to someone” said Eldred, taking his arm and dragging him away, practically ignoring Blaise.

He was left alone, in the middle of the room, with no one to talk to while he processed what had just happened. Without realizing it, he moved towards the loos, thankful about their emptiness as he splashed water on his face. It had been both scary as hell and extremely uplifting. While there were no wizarding laws that vetoed one’s choices, the majority of the wizarding population wasn’t exactly tolerant, when it came to homosexuality and diversity.

Professor Lupin had been a great example: despite being the second most competent teacher in Blaise’s entire school career, _“They should Knight Professor McGonagall, that woman is the best thing in this universe!”_ , he was ostracized and casted away as soon as his condition had been publicized by Snape. The vain bastard ruined a man’s life just cause he was different and harmless, because he had personal beef with him and wanted his position, which he still wasn’t entirely qualified for, as the recent DADA lessons taught him.

Blaise also thought that Professor Lupin wasn’t exactly straight either, but had no confirmations nor any means to contact said professor to ask for advice. He would simply have to figure out on his own what to do, which was a thing he was excellent at.

Suddenly, the door opened and there was a quite concerned Longbottom, in all his black and white glory, hands wrapped in gloves and an empty trail on his hands. “Is everything alright?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind his back and walking towards Blaise, “I saw you all but run here and thought I’d check on you.” He looked sheepish and almost embarrassed, so at sort with the student who worked hard during their sessions together and the idiot that made his blood boil constantly with his witty remarks as soon as books were discarded for the day.

Blaise gave him a timid smile, quick and painless, “Thanks, but I’m actually fine” he claimed, drying up his hands and face on a nearby towel to avoid staring at Longbottom’s worried expression for too long. The Gryffindor then huffed out a laugh and said “Great, wouldn’t want my tutor to fall sick!” Blaise shook his head at that: they would both go home for the holidays, therefore he wouldn’t be tutored nor tutoring, but he was still touched by the Gryffindor’s concern and hoped he couldn’t see the blush spreading on his cheeks.

After a few moments of silence, Longbottom began to wordlessly walk back to the room, but Blaise refused to let me opportunity to hear another one of his sarcastic comebacks. “You’re going to practise during the holidays?” he blurted, cringing internally at the pace his words left his mouth, but it was already too late.

Longbottom turned around, nodding with a serious expression on: “What else am I supposed to do? Hang around my uncle that threw me out of a window to check if I had magic?” Blaise shook his head, all but understanding the older generation fear of having a squib in their family and the lengths one might have gone to instigate a magical reaction. Yet, that was an inhumane treatment that deserved to be punished.

“What about you?” the Gryffindor asked, a sparkle in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment before. “I’m going to France with my mother, to visit her side of the family” he replied, purposefully avoiding to mention that his mother wanted to know everything about the boy standing in front of him, about the one that had managed to snatch his full attention, “Doubt I’m gonna study herbology of all things, if that’s what you’re wondering” he then added with a smirk, challenging and cocky.

“I take that as a personal offence, you know?” Longbottom declared, placing a gloved hand over his sternum and mocking indignation. Then he added, in an afterthought: “Oh, before I forget. I practiced something” he said with a proud expression of his face. Blaise raised a scrutinizing eyebrow, folding his arms and leaning against the sink. “ _Please don’t say kissing cause I might break any minute now.”_

The Gryffindor was now slowly walking closer to Blaise, sending his heart into a frenzy and making his head spin as fast as lightning. “Close your eyes” he whispered when they were close enough to touch, and Blaise might’ve fainted, were it not for his practiced façade keeping him together while his insides combusted. Unwillingly to appear vulnerable, yet incredibly intrigued, he did as he was told, part of him hoping and part of him dreading the course of action their conversation had taken.

He could feel Longbottom’s breath on his cheek and was about to lean in, but suddenly a bright white light exploded behind his eyelids, the warm air then disappeared and a voice whispered at him to open his eyes. The sight was disappointing to say the least: Longbottom was now several centimetres away, looking at him while nervously worrying his lip, and Blaise’s breath was taken from his lungs abruptly. “Well go on, see for yourself” said the Gryffindor, seeming more eager than ever.

He turned around, to face the mirror and examine what had supposedly happened, when he saw it: part of his perfectly groomed right eyebrow had been turned a very dark blue, almost blending into his natural colour effortlessly while still being able to be picked apart. Blaise moved to face Longbottom then, a disbelieving expression and a hundred questions on his mind.

“I practiced Crinus Muto wordlessly the entire day on Seamus, he now has ten different colours on his head!” He then laughed, a bright sound that Blaise wanted to imprint and store in his memory for when he might have needed it. “I thought this was a good way as any to let you know that I’m taking your help seriously” he added sheepishly, somehow finding fascinating the point of his shoes.   
Blaise had never more desperately wanted to kiss someone in his entire life.

“Well, gotta get back now. Happy holidays” he said quickly, fleeting the bathroom and leaving Blaise once alone. He dumbly stared at his own reflection in the mirror, wondering if he should fix it with a quick spell, but deciding against it. All his insides were warm, and not in a bad way.

With one last look, he then exited himself, founding immediately his date, standing alone near the loos and nervously biting her nails.

“That is an incredibly rude gesture” he told her, approaching fast and maintaining an aria of superiority.

“Where were you?” she pointedly asked, ignoring his comment, “Your idiot housemate tried to sneak in and I had totally lost you!”

He was puzzled, it wasn’t like Nott to crash a party and he knew for a fact that he had planned on getting pissed with Crabble and Goyle. “Sorry, had to powder my nose. Who was the idiot?” he hastily asked, wondering whether or not the alcohol had had its best over Theodore.

She simply waved a hand dismissively, “Malfoy, Snape dragged him away” she informed him as it was not an important news.

Blaise was going to slowly torture him and cut him into such tiny pieces that it would’ve been impossible for any magic to repair him. Then he would have sent the remains to the Dark Lord himself, with a note attached, warning him that if Slytherin lost the House Cup because of him, Blaise himself would have killed the evil wizard.

Slowly breathing in, he let himself calm down, making a mental note to later beat Draco Malfoy into a bloody pulp. “Very well, Darling. Shall we continue?” he asked, offering once more his arm to her, which she gladly took.

“What happened to your eyebrow?” she wondered loudly as they moved to the sneak table. He then smiled, trying to catch a glimpse of the Gryffindor dork that had his heartbeat as fast as if was competing in a race.

“Just a little reminder for later, nothing you should care about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Headcanon that the Vampire Sanguini and the writer Eldred Worple are dating!**  
> GLOSSARY:  
> "Figura 'i mmerda" is southern Italian for "making an ass of oneself in a situation"  
> "Zoccola" is literally the female rat but is used to describe 'easy' women and such. It is also used as a term of endearment, as the usual bitch


	6. Chapter 6

They were once again in their original compartment, the one they shared all the way back during their first ever ride on the Express.

In the past few years, under Pansy’s suggestion, they had moved to more populated carriages, not remaining locked in their little booth, to have the opportunity to mingle with other students, yet after the incident between Draco and Saint Potter, they had decided a more secluded area was in order.

And there they were, Draco and Theo and Pansy and him, just like old time. Crabble and Goyle were in the nearby compartment, as if they were guard dogs waiting to be fetched, which wasn’t a far approximation of both their use and bestial nature, considering how they behaved. The rest of their housemates were scattered all over the Express, but in that little moment of time and space, they were alone, far away from prying eyes and from tall Gryffindor idiots.

He had managed to avoid seeing him, back at the station, but Blaise had failed miserably at keeping him out of his mind during the holidays: his mother had bombarded him with thousand different questions about the _‘mysterious boy_ ’ that had snagged his heart and hadn’t stopped meddling during their entire stay at his grandparents’; each one of his aunts and uncles and distant cousins kept on asking about his relationship status, twisting their noses whenever he replied, disapproving of the lack of a ‘ _nice pureblood girl in his life_ ’, to which he simply had to politely smile to prevent himself from doing something irrational and idiotic; he had found himself asking his grandmother suggestions on how to tend plants, with the sole purpose of using them to then impress the useless plant-head.

At King’s Cross, he had sprinted as soon as he saw his friends, ignoring everyone else and focusing on Pansy, who was in the midst of telling Theo about her newest achievement, in the form of a freshly out of Beauxbatons boy who was doing an internship at the Ministry.

He didn’t know why, but he dreaded his next encounter with Longbottom. He had brought a plant from his grandmother’s garden and was planning on giving it to him during their next study session together, alone and in the privacy of the empty classroom they used, and he had already rehearsed several times in his mind the speech he was going to give to the Gryffindor, to excuse his foolishly romantic behaviour and masquerade his uncharacteristic affection and attachment. Yet he feared immensely an unscripted encounter, conscious that his brain didn’t work at his maximum potential around the tall idiot.

It had been quite an effort, the one he constantly had to make to concentrate in Transfiguration class whenever he decided to tap his fingers over the desk or whenever he bit his thumb when he focused on something he didn’t understand. During their private sessions, it was even worse: Longbottom would usually loosen his tie, roll up his sleeves and put a pencil behind his ear whenever it was his turn to explain something, and Blaise’s brain immediately went blank and dead for several moments, his only thought being incomprehensible blabber about biceps and forearms.

Overall, Blaise Zabini was whipped, not entirely in a bad way, but couldn’t be seen acting smitten. Especially not over a boy. Clearly not over a Gryffindor.

He focused his attention once more to his small group of friends: Theo was reading a trashy wizarding romance novel about a witch and a half-blood that, based on the plot, sounded too much like a wizarding version of Wuthering Heights, yet Theo entranced and captivated by the story, unaware of the Muggle origin of it, based on the time of release; Draco was poetically staring off the window into the vast and immeasurable space that could be seen from the window, lost in his problems, mostly Death Eater related; Pansy was filing her nails, mindlessly nodding her head to a song that was playing in her head and remained stuck there for the foreseeable future.

“I gotta tell you something” he blurted out, without really thinking about the course of action he wanted to follow. He knew, deep down, that they would accept him no matter what, but the little anxious voice in the back of his head still whispered frightened.

They all turned to him, each with a puzzled look, stopping whatever they were doing to give him the attention he deserved.

It was an unofficial rule, never once discussed yet always respected, between the four of them to constantly listen to each other’s rambles and problems. It had been done when Theo’s father pressured him into learning Divination, when Pansy’s first time happened in a dark corner of the Slytherin dungeons with a sixth year boy while she was still in her third, and, of course, when Draco came back from the Summer vacations with a new tattoo and a burden on his shoulders. While he never truly admitted what he’d have to do for the Dark Lord, the other three still leant their ears to the blonde’s panicked whispers.

And they were all returning the favour now.

 _“No turning back, brace yourself and do it”_ his mind told him. He was a Pure-blooded Slytherin, on top of his classes and better than any of them, and if they had a problem with him being himself they could’ve shoved their heads up their arses even further than they already were.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever wondered or not, about why I don’t keep girls around for more than a public appearance or just for a couple of weeks” he began, hoping for once to be able to fulfil his speech as he had imagined it in his head.

As it could’ve been predicted, he was immediately interrupted by the monotonous voice of Theo, who simply went back to his book while saying: “Not our place if you wanna shag one different chick each week.” Then as if in an afterthought, he raised his head once again, staring into the distance with clouded eyes, and whispered: “They sure as hell about to fall over you, the wee girls chasing your attention as Nifflers with gold.” He had been reading one too many trashy romance novels for Blaise’s likings and now imagined love stories and escapades everywhere. Just before leaving for the holidays, he had admitted of ‘ _having a feeling with his seer powers_ ’ that Thomas and the Fire Kid were snogging on a daily basis, which left Blaise speechless while the others laughed.

“Are you trying to say that Blaise’s a heartthrob?” asked Draco, almost offended at the idea that he was less desirable than his friend. Pansy then intervened in the situation, leaning in before conspiratorially claiming: “Girls in the bathrooms talk, you know? Many do when they think no one’s there to listen, but Millicent heard that Romilda Vane, that hideous bitch, might be trying to sneak some Amortensia into either Saint Potter’s or Blaise’s cup!” That was a piece of interesting news indeed, that side-tracked the conversation and also derailed Blaise from his train of thought; _“Rule number seven: a possible poisoning should always be avoided, unless it was necessary._ ”  
“Might be a miracle if she even knew how to brew tea, let alone perform correctly all the steps to properly do the potion” commented Draco, tilting back on his seat and folding his arms while sporting an insufferable smirk on his lips.  
“How’d you know? You never pay attention to classes anymore!” asked an affronted Theo, who was constantly complaining about the lack of response from the blonde prefect, but rarely mentioned it whenever Draco was near: Blaise had a feeling he partially knew what their friend had to do, since his parents were once again on the previous path, but he also never confirmed nor commented the situation.

“So does Pansy!” yelled outragedly the blonde, trying futilely to defend himself, despite the true words that just had been spoken. In the past few months, his attention span had drastically declined and now even teachers had started to realize it, which meant fewer House Points than intended. Which gave Blaise constant headaches.  
The she-devil then turned to his friend, a dissatisfied expression on her face: “That’s different, I never paid attention to anything other than Charms, cause everything else’s boring and useless to me, you on the other hand…”. That was a trite topic that could go on and on for weeks. Blaise had his out, his one chance to have them forget he even started the discussion, which would last the remaining train ride for certain.

Yet he didn’t want to go back in hiding his true nature with them and, since he desperately wanted things to move and work with Longbottom, if he turned out to be a fellow as well, he might’ve used Pansy’s help to woo finally the Gryffindor and Theo and Draco’s discretion if things really got going.

It most definitely was a _‘Now or_ never’ type of situation.

“I’m into boys” he admitted quietly, partially drowned by the sounds of his friend’s argument, yet they all perfectly heard him.

The following silence was morbid and sickening, with Blaise looking out of the window with his wand in position to cast a protecting charm over himself. _“Rule number five: better safe than sorry.”_

Tentatively, as if handling a porcelain doll, Pansy moved forward, placing softly a hand on his and whispering: “Are you certain?”

“Sweet Salazar, Pansy, of course he’s certain, what kind of fudged up question is that?!” Theo exploded, throwing his hands in the air and watching the girl as if she had grown two extra heads, and now looked like the dog their current Professor of Care had during their first year.

Blaise had always been curious about how they had managed to fit such a large creature inside the third floor corridor, but still had no explanation. His most quoted guess would be a shrinking spell firstly and then a second enlarging one, probably performed by either Dumbledore or Flitwick, for sure. Hagrid, although he was a great and passionate professor, didn’t strike as the master of form changing and fitting charms, although he could clearly impress and surprise.

His overturning trail of thoughts was once again shifted back into the conversation at hand, instead of being let to free float in a very Pindaric style, by the curious voice of Draco Malfoy: “Why you’re not cursing?” he asked, tone dripping disbelief, that now Blaise shared as well. Pansy was also looking at their fellow housemate as if she intended to solve the mystery before her, clearly having forgotten what spun their conversation in the first place.

Theo, on his own, merely shrugged, “Gave it up until the Spring break in a bet with my cousin, she’s from Durmstrang and won’t drink alcohol, the loser gets kicked off the Easter feast and doesn’t get the food.” The explanation was short and concise, typically in Nott style: “ _If it can’t be said in one sentence only, it’s not worth it”_ was his life motto, which was an interesting perspective in life, yet became complicated when asked to write a three feet parchment long essay, while the Slytherin in question could only master a very poetic “ _The Wound-Cleaning Potion is a potion used to clean cuts and other open wounds.”_ Needless to say, many nights were spent begging Theodore Nott to just write four more sentences cause Professor Snape wanted more than a simple _“It’s used by healers.”_

They all managed to convince him to be marginally less crisp only after reading out loud the works of Crabble or Goyle, which sounded too much like his own for his liking, which lead to the domino effect of a two and a half feet piece.

“Weird shit you pulled, you started it?” asked Pansy, incredibly suspicious and folding her legs under her body, a cat ready to pounce.  
“Grandma’s work, she casted a spell on us to check it and if we remove it we lose” he admitted, sounding excited and vengeful at the same time. While his grandmother had probably meant it as a meaning to have a peaceful evening, she did not keep in count the sheer ambition her grandchild had. Knowing Theo, this little challenge would keep on going until the last day, or until he won. He was too headstrong not to finish it with first place, whichever prize might be coming, it was the pure conscience of being first that would keep him warm during cold nights. “So, you rash-holes gotta keep your fudging mouths clean around me or I’ll lose my shirt” he then added, pointing his finger at all the three remaining people and throwing his best glance their way.

“That fucking sucks ass, Theo. So fucking sorry” exclaimed Pansy, fretting hurt and exaggeration, mocking him with every breath she took. “You’re a bench, Parkinson, and you should definitely caramelize yourself!”  
“Theo! You kiss your grandma with that mouth?” intervened Draco, placing a hand over his heart and pulling an incredulous face, scandalized and amused.

Once again, for the billionth time, the topic had switched and Blaise could feel his newly headache spread. He had a half thought of leaving the compartment to jump over the train and simply lay there, but decided to try one more time to get on top of the issue: “GUYS! Can we please focus here for once? I just told you I’m gay and I’m slightly uncomfortable not knowing whether you’ll hex me or I’ll have to kill you first” he said, staring at each of his friends dead and emotionless in the eyes.

“You would never kill us, Blaise” commented a very relaxed Draco, comfortable in his position. He was so dead wrong, or plain dead, depending on which came first. “Try me bitch. I had to study bloody herbs on my own cause of you so I’m already murderous.”  
He seemed visibly shocked by that, “Oh, yeah, sorry mate, how’s it going?” he asked, probably genuinely curious.  
“Pretty well actually, turns out it’s actually fun and…. Hey, back to the main side, what’s it gonna be, stronzetti?” Blaise all but yelled, losing his patience. It was an actual miracle that he had managed to keep up with them for that long: screw Potter, he should be assigned holiness, or at least a martyrdom, for his years spent in suffering.

“Well, that’s easy: I personally don’t care and as long as nobody” Theo began, pointedly looking at all his friends in the eye and not just at Blaise, “trickles nobody on my bed I’m chill with whatever.” Blaise took a breath of relief, his shoulders sagging a little as he felt all his tension leave his body. _“One down, two more to go.”_

“When you say trickles you actually mean fucking or a general shagging?” asked Draco, tilting his head forward with an unreadable expression he always used when playing with his friends. Not many saw this side of the blonde, the joyous and rascal version, reserved to his closest circle only. He had the best one liners, for certain, and used sarcasm and humour at every possible occasion.

More than once, Blaine had to hex him whenever he started punning, cause once it had begun, he never stopped willingly.

Theo leant forward as well, eye to eye with the blonde with a murderous look on his face: “Malfoy, you keep your hands off my property or I’ll chop them off clean, but as a general rule don’t get on my bed or I’ll burn our dormitory down.”

Pyromania was a serious issue of Theo’s, which was the main reason why he was on speaking terms with the Fire Kid from Gryffindor, which as a downside meant endless teasing from the rest of his house. Despite it all, their unlikely friendship was solid and dangerous, with one accidentally sending things on fire and the other purposefully letting it all burn.   
“I’d do it if I was you, mate. Who knows who did whom before you took the room” Pansy intervened, reclining back into her seat and picking up her nail filer once again, starting back to where she got interrupted.  
“THANK YOU FOR THE IMAGERY PARKINSON!” Theo yelled, bolting up on his feet and thundering over the compartment. Raising a hand to pass through his hair, he gave out a huffed breath and opened the door to the corridor, “Imma go and claw my eyes out excuse me” he proclaimed, before hastily exiting and loudly closing the door with a sound that reverberated the entire train, probably.

The remaining trio burst out laughing immediately, Pansy and Draco falling onto each other as Blaise wiped tears off of his eyes.  
“Merlin, He’s so sensitive!” he commented once his chuckles had quieted down and as his breathing returned evenly. He then closed his eyes, savouring the moment as an eventual calm before a tumultuous storm: “What about you two?” he asked, returning to seriousness.

Pansy looked at him softly, before shrugging and returning back to her task, “I’ve had my suspicions but kept quiet cause.” Then, in an afterthought, she pointed her filer at Blaise’s chest and conspiratorially added: “Hope you know we’re gonna talk about it in private, just the two of us, also just cause I may have already someone to set you up with.”

Blaise chuckled at that, already conscious that the action might be immensely futile but touched by the feeling nevertheless. “Draco?” he asked boldly, turning fully toward the friend that had been keeping silent about the matter. Despite Blaise’s suspicions, it was not his place to say anything about the other boy, but acceptance would’ve been gladly welcomed still.

“I’ve had too much on my own plate to deal with this as well but” he began, messing up his non-gelled hair as if to pull the words out of his brain directly, “I’m cool, mate. As Theo said, don’t fuck anyone on my bed” he finished with a wicked smile and a wink. What was the wink for, Blaise had no idea, but he warmed up at the sentiment nonetheless.  
“Not gonna be a problem, trust me” he admitted smirking: even if things were smooth with a certain boy, he still would be extremely hesitant of bringing anyone of the same species further than the common room, and even then he couldn’t exactly bring a Gryffindor there!  
“Why not? Are you ashamed of us or something?” asked Draco, offended and wounded at the idea, at which Blaise could only reply with a huffed out laugh and a shake of his head, “That’s one way of putting it.”

Draco turned expectantly at Pansy, who just looked him sternly in the eyes before deadpanning: “Your room smells like flowers and douche deodorant, no one with an ounce of self-respect will ever bring a date to shag there” she claimed, with great reasons, before returning to her nails. Crabble and Goyle had an unhealthy lack of familiarity with personal hygiene, which meant that the remaining occupants of the dormitory had to constantly keep the windows open or, during the winter, spray the room with whatever substance strong enough to hide the odour of musk.  
“Speak for yourself, Millicent’s cat’s always stinks worse than death itself!” outragedly cried Malfoy, desperately trying to defend his wounded honour for some reason unknown to Blaise, who simply stood back and enjoyed the scene.  
“Which is why he’s not allowed in the room, we keep him on the doormat, asshole” venomously rebutted Pansy, raising her filer in the air and vehemently threatening the blonde.

“Isn’t that poor creature already been through enough?”  
“Quiet Zabini, he chewed on my favourite pair of shoes and they were expensive” she replied immediately through gritted teeth, without lowering her makeshift weapon nor detaching her eyes from her prey.  
“We all come from powerful and rich Pure-blood families and are talented wizards, couldn’t you just use _reparo_?” snorted Draco, slowly and unperceptively leaning backwards and far away from the witch. Pansy simply drew closer, fury in her eyes, “First of all, that’s not the point. Second, they were bloody Louboutin and even with the spell they still had something missing and I’m still salty about it” she said, punctuating each word with a blow with her bludgeon, which caused the blonde to wince in pain.

The scene was comedic and truly heart-warming, but it was interrupted by Theo’s head, which poked from the newly opened door: “We’re there, guys, move your sugar plum behinds” he said entering, shifting the pair of bickering idiots to take out his coat.

Blaise felt better than he had in weeks as he fixed his tie on the window reflection. Holidays had been great, the quick chat with his friends freeing and fantastic and he was finally ready to set his plan in motion.

With his heart infinitely lighter, he grabbed his suitcase and exited the train, secretly hoping to be able to peak a certain Gryffindor before the meal in the Great Hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want more in the future about the Slytherin Quartet let me know, cause I love writing them!!!
> 
> GLOSSARY:  
> "Stronzetti" means 'little pieces of shit/little assholes"


	7. Chapter 7

The message only said ‘ **URGENT** ’. It was left on the inside of a book, in the Great Hall, in the place he used to seat at, yet Blaise had no problem understanding who it came from. Opening the cover, he noticed the word scrambled on a piece of parchment in one quick stroke of pencil. He had seen that messy handwriting one too many times not to recognize it immediately, despite its lack of contest.

Sure enough, he raised his eyes towards the Gryffindor table, scanning it quickly and spotting a wild Longbottom, carefully sipping from his cup, brown eyes boring into his. Content of being finally spotted, the Gryffindor threw a cautious wink his way, masquerading it as a cough, before returning to his conversation with Weasley.

Maintaining his posture, he slid into his seat, placing his own books over the incriminating carrier and resuming his previous conversation with Pansy about what they each expected from the first Apparition class the next day.

Dinner passed in a blur, with Blaise not really paying attention to the topics that were discussed over the table, giving some meaningless responses whenever he thought appropriate. Nobody questioned his behaviour, not entirely uncharacteristic: it wasn’t that uncommon, for the majority of Slytherins, to appear distant and lost in thought, especially after a long and tiring day.

His attention peaked several times, when a bright and cursed laugh came from the Gryffindor table as an idiot doubled himself over the table at something his friends said: Pansy would then throw him an all-knowing, infuriating glance, which Blaise tried his hardest to ignore and to not respond to the provocation.

Since his truthful moment back on the train, she had been an absolute nightmare. She had begun bombarding him with questions about various boys, which she thought would be perfect for him. In the end, he was forced to admit the full truth when she all but organized a date with Justin Finch-Fletchley, who just happened to be out as well. Her initial reaction was horror at the idea of her friend dating a Gryffindor, which was integrally unacceptable, but then her face distorted into a wicked smile. “ _You know, I can definitely see it. He’s got a great arse and those biceps, don’t even get me started._ ”

He had come extremely close to hexing her, which would’ve cause a detention but would’ve also partially erased his headache, were it not for Millicent capturing their attention and distracting Blaise from his task. But now, all his previous fury resumed at the smirk the witch threw his way whenever he raised his head to check the other table.

“You okay, Zabini? You seem tense…” she hummed, toying with her fork and twisting the food on her plate, raising a mocking eyebrow at him. He threw her his best murderous glance, plastering a fake smile on his lips as he forcefully shoved a bite into his mouth, to occupy himself with something other than the thought of stabbing her.

“You should smile more, Blaise, someone might fall in love with you” she hummed again, taking a sip off her pumpkin juice. Yes, he was definitely stabbing the little bitch. “As long as he keeps that constipated face on, doubt anyone will be brave enough to even look at him for too long” commented jokingly Theo, elbowing him in the sides. “ _Che cazzo , the irony_” Blaise thought, slightly panicking inside as he laughed at the joke, mentally facepalming as the vixen in front of him spread her blood red lips into a vicious grin.

“Theo’s got a point, mate” Draco intervened, leaning his chin on Blaise’s books, sighing and poking holes at Saint Potter’s back, “You guys gotta check on him, he’s onto me” he then added after a moment, jerking his head towards the Gryffindor seeker.

“You mean onto or into?” asked Pansy, raising the question that everyone at the table knew the answer to, despite it never been voiced by the direct interested party. “Why would he be into me?” fired back the blond, his voice raising ten different octaves higher and eyes widening almost comically.  
“You want him to be into you?” enquired Blaise, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back on his chair, focusing once again on his own Gryffindor, that was now saying his farewells to his housemates. He slowly followed the departing boy with his eyes, noticing how he held a book on his hands, full on display for Blaise to see. Somehow, it clicked: the note had no meeting location, after all, and therefore he had had to come up with a rather clever idea to share his idea. Confusing, but still clever.

Blaise desperately needed to be sure of his intuition and prayed on Merlin that it was actually true.

“Why would I want that arrogant and vaniteux idiot to be into me?” continued Draco, but Blaise was already raising on his feet and grabbing his books.

“My apologies, cretini” he said, fixing his tie and giving Pansy a pointed glare, “regardless of the heights of this conversation I must depart.” The vixen then nodded once and with that he fleeted the Great Hall, followed by a very high pitched scream the witch exclaimed at him: “TELL ME HOW IT GOES OR I’LL CURSE YOU!” she yelled, earning a middle finger in response.

***

The book belonged to the second to last rows in the library, almost near the Restricted Section. It was a History manual about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 and Blaise hoped that he would find something interesting, returning it to its original spot.

The library was empty, not even Madame Pince was there to complain about the echo his shoes made on the marble floor.

He had to admit that it was probably one of the smartest plans he’d taken parts in that year, well-constructed and articulated. That was, of course, if he had recognized the clues properly. If not, it was damned Longbottom’s fault for sending his heart in such a frenzy, truth to be told.

He stopped at the beginning of the row, checking once more the empty corridor behind him, before turning towards his destination.

He was there, casually sitting on a nook on the window and reading a book. As soon as Blaise stepped towards him, the Gryffindor raised his head and gave him a blinding smile. “ _Sweet suffering Salazar_ ” his mind repeated endlessly as he approached, forcing his legs not to be rooted on the ground and trying not to embarrass himself.

“You came!” Longbottom exclaimed, closing his book and jumping on his feet, seeming more like an overly-excited puppy than a wizard. It took all of Blaise’s will power not to melt into a puddle at the cuteness in front of him, and he was rather proud of the un-shakiness of his voice as he asked: “Are you surprised?”, maintaining his tone cool and calm.

“More like relieved” the Gryffindor replied, scratching the back of his neck as he nervously chuckled, “I knew I was vague but I couldn’t exactly owl you, so I had to improvise” he added sheepishly, worriedly toying with the book in his hands.

Unable to resist the urge to tease the boy in front of him, Blaise slid his hands into his pockets and leaned against the bookcase behind him, willing an aura of confidence to surround him: “Do you always create such complicated plans whenever you can’t send a letter to someone?” he pondered out loud, his voice dripping cockiness. The few words that Longbottom said then utterly wrecked him.

“Only for important people” he whispered, almost mostly to himself yet loud enough for Blaise to hear and completely lose his mind.

He was stunned, under a spell, shocked and paralyzed, all at once: had he really just admitted that, casually, in the fucking library? Was that the urgent thing that they had to discuss? He desperately needed to know.

But Longbottom looked borderline uncomfortable and he couldn’t bring himself to raise such a delicate topic at the moment. “Anyway…” he coughed, trying to mask his internal turmoil, “What was so urgent that couldn’t wait tomorrow?”

Longbottom then did another thing that sent Blaise’s brain into a day off: he smiled timidly, putting his book down and toying with his fingers. “I think you’d wanna sit down for this…” he then added quickly, motioning emphatically towards the little nook on the window that was previously occupied by the Gryffindor.  
“Should I be worried?” asked Blaise, raising an eyebrow and huffing out a quickly laugh as he did what he was told. Longbottom fully laughed at that, as quietly as he could, considering they were still in the library. “No, don’t think so” he said, shaking his head and beginning to shift his weight from foot to foot rather annoyingly.  
“Then could you stop bouncing? It’s kinda off-putting and distracting” Blaise told him, almost emotionlessly as his mind fired: _“Just like everything else you do but that’s another point, how the fuck can I concentrate on anything when I’m around this giant beau!”_

“Oh. Sorry” he murmured, mindful of his surroundings, “Godric, I’m just excited!”. He went back to scratching his neck once more, before sighing, and finally he spoke: “Okay, so. Professor McGonagall asked me to remain after class cause she wanted to talk to me, you noticed?” he asked, pulling a face at the memory.  
“Really? I didn’t really pay attention…” Blaise said, faking nonchalance and waving his hand in a motion for Longbottom to continue with his little speech, while his mind yelled: _“OF COURSE I NOTICED, MY HEART POUNDED LIKE CRAZY FOR YOU ASSHOLE”,_ but the Gryffindor didn’t need to know that particular minor detail.

“Well, turns out she was curious about my progress on Transfiguration. I apparently got an E on the revision of Standard Conjuring Spells and an A on the practical part! She had questions about how I’ve gotten this better and I kinda told her you’re helping me study. Hope it doesn’t upset you. Fuck I didn’t really consider that you might not want her knowing any of this, I just panicked and told her the truth also cause, duh, it’s Professor McGonagall and I can’t lie to her face and she just looked so proud and…”

Blaise couldn’t stand it anymore.

He bolted up to his feet, thus interrupting the Gryffindor mid-rant and marched quickly to where the other boy stood. Longbottom was looking at him with an expression of pure dread and began to nervously glance around them to check if anyone was nearby. He came to a stop right inside the other’s personal space, a few centimetres short off in their impromptu standoff. A bewildered Gryffindor was now staring down at him, ready to voice any complaints he might’ve had.

But he didn’t have the time: Blaise grabbed his red and golden tie and, casting a rapid glance behind the taller boy, leaned in, bringing Longbottom’s face slightly down, meeting him in between and closing his eyes.

For a split of a second neither moved; Blaise remained frozen in time, wondering when the axe would drop. He had just kissed a boy, after all, which was not something one was supposed to do, and said boy was a Gryffindor, which meant that, no matter how ‘weak’ or non-violent he might be, he would be able to throw a mean right hook that would’ve left Blaise unconscious on the library floor.

For a moment he waited, unable to deepen the kiss or remove himself from the situation. When enough was enough, though, he leaned slightly backwards and began to open his eyes, apology ready on the tip of his tongue.

Until he could feel a pair of strong arms wrap around his middle and a soft pair of lips pushing against his own, resuming the previous interrupted act and deepening the kiss. Blaise’s body melted right into Longbottom’s, his mind going completely blank: he could feel the warm and slightly chapped lips brushing against his, felt the Gryffindor’s torso tilting against his and faintly bowing him backwards. He hadn’t realized his legs were moving until his back hit a bookcase, books rattling on their shelves.

It was Blaise’s turn now to wrap his arms around the other boy, placing them on his neck and tucking his hands on his hair. _“I knew they were soft!”_ he thought, tilting his head to the side and biting Longbottom’s bottom lip. He couldn’t believe it, what was happening, nor when, nor with whom. Yet his mind didn’t retain a single concept, not when the Gryffindor exhaled a shaky breath whenever they resurfaced from each other for air, only to be sucked once again in each other’s lips.

During their previous year, the Weasley twins had decided to create a spectacle made of fireworks: the ones that now exploded beyond Blaise’s eyes burned brighter and were much more vibrant. The entire world stopped right at them and he wouldn’t have cared if the school collapsed to the ground burning, not when Longbottom moved his lips down his jawline, nibbling at every patch of skin he found.

Blaise’s hands began roaming down his back as the Gryffindor resumed his path upwards to return to his lips. Each new brush was more vigorous than the previous one and Blaise was entirely lost in the sensation of the soft yet demanding touch. He was incredibly grateful for the support the bookcase gave him, for his legs were about to give up.

Longbottom’s hands didn’t stay idly either: they roamed up and down his sides, grabbing his tie and undoing it as his teeth grazed Blaise’s bottom lip, rendering him completely breathless and headless. Appreciative sounds exited from both their mouths as they moved closer, bodies fully pressed against one another as their tongues battled for dominance in their dangerous dance.

He had just moved his hands back into their original place, tugging at the short and soft blonde strains as Longbottom deepened their kiss once more, when they heard the faint clicking of heels against the marble floor. The Gryffindor jumped immediately back, turning around and going to sit at the window, resuming his reading hastily, as nothing had happened. Blaise did his best to recompose himself, passing a hand over his face to ground himself to reality and turning around to browse the shelves that they had just disrupted, as steps echoed closer and closer.

Surely enough, Madame Pince rounded the corner, bearing a thunderous expression. He was pretty sure they had been fairly quiet and hadn’t been heard, but he couldn’t be certain.

“What are you doing here?” asked the old librarian sternly. Blaise simply shrugged and resumed his browsing, not trusting his voice not to quiver after the tumultuous event, but he heard the Gryffindor reply in a flat tone: “Nothing Madame, I was just reading” he said, raising his book as proof. She seemed to buy their circumstantial lie and left the scene stoutly, loudly reminding them that the library hours were about to finish.

For someone so strict on silence, she screamed like a baby mandrake.

“ _Since when do I think in herbology metaphors? This boy is gonna be the death of me”_ he thought as soon as she had fleeted the scene, smiling softly as he turned around to face the equally sheepishly looking boy seated nearby, who had left his book on the windowsill and had risen up, walking towards Blaise. He stopped a mere inch away, so close that Blaise could feel his shaky breath. His fingers itched to grab the Gryffindor’s tie and turn the tables, push him against the bookcase, but the fear of Madame Pince showing up once again restrained him from acting on his impulses.

Instead, he simply stared bewildered at the boy in front of him, smiling tenderly down at him.

“So…” he started quietly, unsure of what path to take: it was clear that Longbottom wasn’t going to punch him into the infirmary any time soon, but dread and doubt crept up in Blaise’s stomach. Despite a great snogging moment, rejection could still come and hurt like a thousand cuts drenched in lime and salt.

The Gryffindor raised his hands up and quietly adjusted Blaise’s tie, nervously biting his bottom lip as they remained on his shoulders, waiting. It was then that Blaise took in fully the boy in front of him: hair totally askew and seemingly windswept, cheeks rosy and lips swollen and red, a smile that was so small yet so blinding.

He couldn’t resist the urge any longer and leaned once again forward, peeking lightly Longbottom’s lips and retracting suddenly. That elicited a bubbly laugh from the blonde boy, so contagious that had Blaise joining without him meaning to. All the nervousness was immediately erased from his body and a soft feeling of calm and content replaced it.

“Guess this is a good time as any to tell you I like you” he whispered, feeling his cheeks heat up at the admission as a smile spread wild and carefree on his lips.  
Longbottom huffed up a laugh, arms slighting down his own and grabbing Blaise’s hands in his tenderly, “Well I sure hope so, after all we just risked being banned for the rest of the semester from the library to snog!” he said back, interlacing their fingers and shaking his head delicately gently. “It was your idea to meet here” rebutted Blaise, sounding offended for the sake of their banter, but actually smiling the most he had in weeks.

“Yeah but you started it!”  
He rolled his eyes at that, “Are you always this childish?” he asked as a wave of affection washed over him. Longbottom had a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he said, in the most expressionless face possible: “Only after being thoroughly snogged.”

Blaise could physically feel all his blood leave his brain to go downwards. “When did you figure out?” he asked after a few moments, while he regained control over his thoughts.  
“That I fancied you? After you offered to tutor me. That I go both ways? Before you asked me to tutor you. You?”  
“Remember the first day of Transfiguration?”, Longbottom nodded his affirmation, eyes sparkling as he urged silently Blaise to continue, “I guess I seemed rude most of the time but I was trying not to get caught staring.”

The Gryffindor laughed openly at that, dropping his head on Blaise’s shoulder and spreading warmth all over his upper torso at the contact “Yeah about that, Dean was afraid you were gonna hex me the first week. Glad it didn’t happen” he added, choosing to remain in that little nook and to caress Blaise’s neck with his lips for good measure.  
“So…” he asked eventually, when the temperature under his robes became too unbearable.  
Longbottom removed himself from Blaise, much to his displeasure, and went to sit back on the windowsill, bringing Blaise with him. “What shall we do, good sir?” he asked once they were both seated, fingers still intertwined and playing mindlessly with one another’s.

He literally had no idea: all his plans started and finished with him trying to woo the boy next to him, never once imagining the possibility of this reality happening. He still wasn’t quite sure it wasn’t a dream. “I don’t know, Longbottom” he admitted truthfully, before continuing, a wicked plan forming in his mind: “Seems like a good idea to find somewhere more private and resume our previous activity, from where we were interrupted.”  
“I had my tongue in your mouth, you can call me Neville” he said with such an eager tone that Blaise had to momentarily shut down, unable to proceed anywhere.

“ _Neville_ ” he mouthed silently, savouring the way the syllables rolled off his tongue.  
“And as much as I’d love to just follow down that path, I’m afraid I have to go back to my common room” he continued, bringing Blaise back to their current situation, embarrassed at the suggestion he had made in the first place.  
“Oh. Yes, definitely a smart move” he agreed, trying to avoid his displeasure from showing on his features or on his tone.

But ~~Longbottom~~ Neville seemed also wanting to continue their conversation a bit longer, for he made no attempt at leaving. “Before we part ways, though, are we gonna do this?” Blaise asked quickly, motioning in between them and hoping his intentions were clear. He was definitely in head over heels for the boy, even if he didn’t particularly needed to know at the moment, and he wanted to know whether or not to begin planning awfully complicated plans for them to interact without arousing any suspicions.

“Hopefully yes” blurted out Neville, looking immensely relieved about the topic that had just been brought up, “I do like you a lot and from what I’ve gathered you like me so, yeah definitely!”  
Blaise erupted into a genuine smile, pleased with the answer, “Good.” He then added, in an afterthought, “But I don’t think we can tell people just yet.” Neville shook his head vehemently at that, clearly agreeing, “Are you kidding me? We’re a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, no one must ever know! It’s such a scandal” he said in a ushered and conspirator tone.  
“We’re definitely Romeo and Giulietta” Blaise added in the same voice, managing to hide the nervousness behind his words: despite their mocking attitude, it was a serious situation that might’ve brought both of them in serious trouble, mainly due not to their Hogwarts houses.  
“Didn’t peg you for a muggle literature connoisseur” Neville admitted, raising an eyebrow and effectively bringing Blaise out of his dark thoughts.  
“My mom made me read it. To be fair, it’s the worst tragedy ever, I prefer Macbeth.”

“Guess I’ll have to read it and tell you how it is” Neville said, then: “Just so you know, Luna, Ginny and Harry all knew I liked you and listened to me ramble about whether or not you liked me back, so if I shut up out of the blue they’ll get suspicious” he confessed, worrying his bottom lip.  
Blaise was familiar with the situation. “Pansy’s the same” he confessed, earning a blush from the blonde boy. “I think we gotta tell them” he said finally, turning fully to Neville to study his reaction. The Gryffindor now looked at their hands, still linked together, with a warm smile. He then nodded his agreement, “Smart move, also it serves good for when someone’s gotta cover for us” he finished his sentence with a wink, another thing that shortcutted Blaise’s brain and deprived it of the very much needed blood.  
“Awesome!” he stumbled over the first word that crossed his mind, trying hard not to become a bubbling mess. “I really think we should go…” he eventually said, when the fear of being discovered creeped up once more after the initial euphoria had worn off.  
“Yeah” Neville agreed, stretching his legs in front of him before raising up, “See you tomorrow for our lessons, then” he said, leaning down to quickly leave a gracious peck on Blaise’s cheek, “I’ve got some pointers you definitely need for the next essay that haven’t stuck out in your brain so far, so we’ll go over those first.”

And with that, he left, with Blaise remaining behind for the necessary and customary time Pansy had told him about: “ _After a snog or a shag, either you leave first or you wait two minutes and a half”_ she had instructed their previous year, yet the notion hadn’t been useful until then.

When the time went up, he rose from the little nook on the windowsill and began to leave the library as well, clutching tightly the History manual about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dan!  
>  GLOSSARY:  
> "Che cazzo" means 'What the fuck', but depending on the context it can slightly change it. In this case it's more like alongside the lines of 'Holy shit' or You gotta be kidding me'  
> "Vaniteux" is French for 'conceited'   
> "Cretini" means 'idiots'


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops...

The situation couldn’t be worse.

Draco was in the infirmary, recovering after Saint Potter had almost killed him in a bathroom for Salazar knows why. His entire house was basically rioting, the other ones were suspicious and scared, especially since The Dark Lord was on and about it again. It was a mess. And Blaise had a headache.

It had been about three months since he had had last one of the awful brain splitting migraines. And he wasn’t clueless about the cure to his inconvenience: Neville let him rant and destress in ways his friends couldn’t, he comforted him and challenged him and made him feel so light and warm. Their entire situation was marvellous and wonderful and too dreamy to him to be true: they would sometimes sneak up to the astronomy tower with a bottle of pumpkin juice or with muggle drinks that were smuggled into Hogwarts, stargazing under a thick blanket or telling each other stories about their childhoods and their houses; they would meet in empty corridors, or empty classrooms, or empty rows in the back of the library, or any available space that would leave them alone, to spend moments alone and in privacy, to just be with each other and enjoy their time together, whether to snog or just talk without being judged about everything and nothing at all.

Their friends were also rather helpful. Female Weasley and Loony Lovegood created diversions whenever they needed and they also delivered messages, since Lovegood was a Ravenclaw and therefore it wouldn’t be shameful to be seen around her. She was also a Pureblood, so no foul at all. Pansy was, for once in her life, useful and not that annoying as usual. She covered for him whenever someone looked for him while he was busy and she would lie all the time effortlessly. The only downside was that she was incredibly noisy and demanded all the details. Probably Blaise’s most horrific memory will forever be the one time she gave him her version of the Talk, where she held him against his will and shared her wisdom into a very specific area of dating. Blaise could’ve easily lived without that experience, yet it was insightful and rather helpful in his next encounter with Neville in an empty classroom next to the DADA hall.

He had no idea whatsoever what Saint Potter was doing to help them in their escapade, but Neville assured him that he made sure they were left alone, either by causing a distraction or sending someone to cause a distraction, or by alerting Neville whenever someone was in 5 minutes away from spotting them. Apparently, he knew the position of everyone at Hogwarts and Blaise didn’t need to know more. “He doesn’t really trust snakes” was the only explanation he had received from a very sheepishly looking Neville, which was fair.

Those had been probably the best three months in Blaise’s entire academic career.

But now the spell was broken.

He had sent a flying piece of paper in his direction at dinner, and Neville had immediately caught on, despite Blaise’s cold demeanour. Lately, whenever they were in the Great Hall, their eyes would meet and he would wink at the boy, just to see the colour rush into his cheeks and to see the absurdly adorable face he’d make, but this time he just let the spell do its magic, completely impassive and detached. Their meeting would be in the Herbology hall, easily disguisable as Blaise leaving or going to the library and Neville just being himself around plants. The entire school knew that he was the person Professor Sprout trusted most and that he spent the majority of his time next to the greenhouses, tending them and all.

 _“Rule number six: punctual is tardy and early is punctual.”_ So he never was late, always ten minutes prior to everything unless it was a fashion statement, the tardiness.

Neville Longbottom, as he had proven on various occasions, was the total opposite. Which was something that both infuriated and amused Blaise endlessly. But not tonight.

He had already walked the length of the corridor twice, lost in his head and in the situation and in the mess created. No one truly knew the reason behind their duel yet, but the tension was at its highest between the houses since the events in their second year. Rumours had spread and already there were four different versions of the story, which had to still be confirmed by Professors and either party: some said it was Draco that started the fight, either by words or with a curse, while others gave all the blame to Saint Potter. Someone at dinner said that they had been Imperioed, but Blaise had kept his mouth shut, just like everyone else in his small group of friends.

Something like that was inevitable. Draco had become more and more suspicious and alert, and even more neurotic than usual: he would disappear for hours and hours, or wake up in the middle of the night yelling. But he also refused to share his burdens with his friends, kept all his secrets to himself. And Saint Potter had been on his tail since their first year, it was a matter of time before either one of those two idiots would snap.

Unfortunately, that time had come and now they had to deal with the aftermath.

Blaise was startled out of his mind by a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Neville asked, a worried expression on his face as he scrunched his eyebrows together. The customary reply came before Blaise could stop it, out of habit and muscle memory alone: “Yes, you?”  
Neville caught it for the lie it was, he knew him too well by now not to truly see if something was actually bothering him. “Listen, I know what this is about…”

“Oh, really?” Blaise asked, unsure himself of why they were there in the first place. Sure, he had called their meeting, but it was mostly because he was upset and terrified and knew that some alone time with the plant head would’ve helped him. He was reluctant to call him something other than that, even in his internal thoughts, afraid that something might’ve happened. Ironically, something happened anyway, outside of his control.

 _“Rule number twenty: use terms of endearment either sarcastically or when you actually know you mean it. Don’t waste them”_ and so he didn’t, not even to acknowledge their blossomed relationship.  
Neville rose a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his neck as he did whenever he was nervous. ‘ _What does_ he _have to be nervous about?’_ his mind fired, already imagining the possible scenario ever, to add to the ever growing amount of tragedy that had been created that day.

The next words that came out of Neville’s mouth shocked, surprised and angered him, in that specific order.

“Yeah, because of the Transfiguration assignment. I totally screwed it up, despite you telling me how to do that spell ten times” he admitted, sighing and moving to lean his back against the wall, head hung low in shame.   
“You think I’m mad at you over Transfiguration?” The disbelief in Blaise’s tone could be heard from the owlery.  
“You clearly look mad, so I just assumed that…”  
“No, no, no, no! This isn’t your fault, Nev” he said, gentler than he expected, and he also assumed a similar position, moving a hand to rest on the Gryffindor’s arm, brushing it lightly.  
“Then what happened? You were really off at dinner.”  
“In case you haven’t noticed my best friend has been cursed and is in the infirmary because of that moron roommate of yours!”  
Neville then tensed, facing fully Blaise as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Harry only used the spell to defend himself!”  
“And you believe him?”  
“Of course I do! Harry’s a good person, he would never do something like that, unless to defend himself” he said, loudly and proudly, as if it was a matter of fact.

“Why? Because he is a saintly Gryffindor and Draco is the big evil Slytherin?” Blaise asked, venom lacing each and every syllable. He couldn’t believe the situation, how blind was Neville to ignore the truth?  
“You know I didn’t mean it like that, don’t you dare twisting my words, B.”  
“NO!” he yelled, leaving his resting position and pointing an accusatory finger at Neville, “You don’t get to defend that asshole. If he really was trying to protect himself he could’ve just disarmed Draco, considering that’s the only spell he’s capable of performing.” Then, as if in afterthought, he muttered quietly, “He’s almost as bad as you are.” The words were out before he had even registered, yet he remained stoic as the boy in front of him turned red in shame and anger.

“Okay, that’s about enough. I know you’re scared or upset or whatever, but that’s not an excuse to insult me.”  
Blaise ran a hand over his face, to smooth out his expression that was slowly getting twisted into one of misery and agony at the entire world, “You don’t get it! Draco…” But Neville didn’t let him finish, interrupting and erupting into a poignant: “Shut up! I think I get it very well, as I also had to see Harry and Ron and even myself in danger because of your stupid roommates!”

“What are you talking about?” Surely, the rivalry between their two houses was very strongly felt, but he didn’t remember any actual harm happening in their year, unless one counted the Weasley-Granger-Potter trio and Draco himself. Those four paid at least one visit to the infirmary each year, with and without each other’s help.  
Neville scoffed him, probably not believing him, “Don’t pretend you don’t know that I was Crabble’s and Goyle’s favourite target” he said in a sing-song voice, taunting him, “And don’t forget that because of that stunt you lot pulled with Umbridge, we all risked more than an expulsion. She was about to use the… fucking torture on Harry!” He had stuttered in the last part, perhaps as his temper rose.

He hadn’t forgotten all that happened, couldn’t forget the amount of trouble Umbridge had caused. Blaise was not there, when they ‘ _captured’_ the Gryffindors and Loony Lovegood before they went into the Ministry, but Draco had told him that it had been a rather exciting event, before ‘ _shit went down’_. And while he had never really paid attention to Neville before their encounter in the Transfiguration classroom, he was aware of his roommates' pathetic tricks and violent behaviours towards him and those easy to prick like him. He had reprimanded them, back then, mainly because they were making Slytherin lose points, yet ignored the situation almost completely.  
“That’s got nothing to do with…” he began, trying to defend himself, failing miserably.  
“So you can be on your high horse all the time, looking down at us lowly Gryffindors, but the second I tell you that I have my reasons not to trust Slytherins and _‘That’s got nothing to do with you’_. Great, thanks for the information” Neville said, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“We promised at the beginning of the year not to generalize each other.”  
“That’s not what I’m doing. But you can’t accuse me of not getting it.”  
“Okay” he conceded. Neville had a point, after all, and Blaise wanted a fair debate. “Still, this doesn’t change the fact that you’re defending Potter!” he accused once more.  
“HE’S MY FRIEND! And Malfoy was about to use an unforgivable curse on him. Would you rather that happening?”

“You have no proof!”

“Yes, I do” he added calmly, which surprised Blaise: nobody talked about student witnesses, there was only Snape around and he had been secretive about the entire ordeal. “Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape checked their wands, and guess who started the fight? Plus, Moaning Myrtle was there and told everything to Dumbledore.”  
“He must’ve had his reasons…” He was searching for an answer in the puzzle that had become his best friend. None of that was a typical Draco behaviour, which linked with whichever task he had been burdened with. But Draco remained, first and foremost, his best friend and, despite his awful behaviour and his sometimes backwards thinking, he would’ve always defended him.  
“You were the one who told me that Draco has been off the entire year!”  
“And? Is really Potter so Great and Almighty that he couldn’t have startled or instigated Draco?”

Neville looked tired now. “I’m no one to judge” he admitted softly, shaking his head.  
“Good, cause you’re terrible at it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Simply that you should’ve been in Hufflepuff, the way to blindly trust someone” replied smugly Blaise, finally feeling like he had made the Gryffindor come around the topic. He couldn’t believe Neville to be so blind about it, just because he was friends with Saint Potter, that didn’t mean that the boy didn’t have flaws and wasn’t capable of doing it.

“You mean, the same way I trusted you?”

That was a low blow, one that hit home, yet Blaise maintained his appearance unbothered, “Please, agreeing to let me tutor you was the best thing that ever happened to you” he claimed, looking away to make sure Neville didn’t see it for the lie that it was. He was too proud to admit that that probably was the best thing in Blaise’s life, and not just because of the academic reward: Neville was a ray of sunshine, an amazing person and perfect for him.

“I seem to remember that you asked for my help first.”  
“Semantics” he replied curtly, waving a dismissal hand.

For a few moments they remained silent, both staying their grounds and not conceding an inch. Then Neville sighed, moving back to lean his back and his head against the wall. “Blaise, what are we doing?” he asked in a quiet tone, his voice wavering and thick with emotion.  
“What do you mean?” he fired back, copying his position and resting on the opposite wall, facing him with a challenging look on his face. But Neville had clearly had enough of their talk, when he said: “I mean, it’s clear that something’s bothering you. Please, just tell me what it is instead of just baiting me.”

 _‘How come he missed the entire point?_ ’ his mind asked, getting angrier by the second at the other boy’s cluelessness.  
“Baiting you? I’m just trying to defend my friend who has been reduced bloody unconscious by your idiotic Saviour and you ask me what the hell is bothering me? Well, let me tell you, _Longbottom_. I really don’t know why I am bothering with _you_ , considering it’s pretty useless to even reach the point with you. You were right at the beginning, I should’ve been upset about the Transfiguration assignment, considering I’ve explained it to you so much even **I** got sick of it. You’re so stuck up into your little plants that you can’t see the real world outside the greenhouses and honestly I am very much over the idea of having to spend one more second having to listen to you rambling about leaves. So please, go the fuck away and be with your Gryffindor friends, I’m pretty sure they’re all celebrating the vile act of violence against Draco. All that great talk about Courage and Bravery and in the end you’re all a bunch of apes with no brains, wasting our precious time.”

“You don’t really mean that” muttered quietly Neville, giving him an unreadable look and scrutinizing his face, looking for something in Blaise’s face. But he didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, in fact, none of his words were true. “I do, actually” he simply claimed, maintaining his mask in place.

Neville then ran a hand over his face, smudging his lips in the motion and then pursing them in. He looked like he was holding back a storm, which in turn infuriated even more Blaise, on the verge of yelling already.  
“I know you’re great at lying and you know I’m not as stupid as I look, so do me a favour and stop with this bullshit. You’re upset and I get it, I’m here for whatever you need, always” he moved towards him, placing a hand on his arm, “but don’t you dare treat me like shit only for saying what’s true. Believe me, no one is celebrating shit and Harry’s much to blame as Draco. All I’m saying is that Harry defended himself, and that’s not an opinion, but a fact. What started it I honestly can’t fathom, but don’t go and make this about us.”

Blaise shifted abruptly, letting his arms cross over and effectively removing Neville’s comforting hand. “Us? There is no us, Longbottom, you’re a bloody Gryffindor and I should’ve understood it from the beginning instead of wasting my time and energy around someone like you” he said coldly, not knowing if he truly meant his words. Sure, it had been Paradise with Neville, yet there was truth beyond all of that, right?

Then, not wanting to let the topic drop without winning, he added: “And why are you still defending Potter?"

Neville was taken away from his mind abruptly, then, because he took a few moments to reply. He swallowed and shut his eyes tightly, before saying: "Well, at least he didn't try to reindeer someone insane."

"That's definitely not what happens after a curse, no wonder you suck at spells" Blaise joked, aware that the boy wasn’t useless but rather that his talents laid somewhere else. They had talked excessively about that on various occasions, and he knew that Neville knew he must’ve been joking, right?

"Yeah right, that's only the fucking side effect."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

With his hands fisted on his side, Neville shut his eyes once more, shaking his head, before saying: "You know what, _Zabini_? Fuck you and fuck off. Our arrangement is over and leave me the fuck alone" voice tense and eyes wet. He then proceeded to turn around and hastily leave, disappearing into the empty corridor until Blaise couldn’t see him anymore.

‘ _Pathetic’_ his mind said, but he couldn’t understand who was supposed to be pathetic. He fell to the ground, seated with his back against the wall as words swirled into his mind and the headache became stronger.   
He had almost forgotten how painful those could be, too happy with Neville to understand truly what the other boy’s presence meant.

Suddenly, the realization came: Neville had left, properly left, because he had hurt him. He had almost seen the Gryffindor he was in love with cry.

 _‘Wait. What?’_ his mind asked, wrapping around the idea and sending him into a spiral of panic.

No, it wasn’t possible, they were not there yet, and even if they were, Blaise would’ve never admitted it first. He was too prideful and too scared to do that. But he also been incredibly comfortable and happy with Neville, so much that it almost felt like he was up in the air, carefree and happy. And now that he was alone, he had crashed down on the hard ground.

Blaise’s blindness and concerns for Draco had clouded his judgment, letting him run his mouth with lies that Neville didn’t deserve. And in doing so had ruined instantly the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

_“Lastly, Rule number fifty: If you ever feel the words ‘I love you’ or the sentiment rise up, don’t keep it in.”_

Yet, Blaise couldn’t exactly admit it now, could he? He had no idea what to do anymore, so he simply leaned his head back and closed his eyes, refusing to let the tears escape as the world finally collapsed on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, that was a bitch to write! Mainly because arguments are illogical but still. Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know in the comments!  
> I took the creative liberty of putting here a little headcanon of mine: McGonagall and Snape had checked the wands after the duel with prior incantatio to be sure of what happened, otherwise how could they know? It's a plot hole that always bugged me


	9. Chapter 9

His sleeping pattern had rarely been erratic. _‘Rule number nine: beauty sleep is important’_ and he tried to maintain a schedule that allowed him the flexibility of pulling all-nighters to study for an exam or to enjoy a night out with his friends without getting dark circles. It was a bother to use a spell to make them disappear and muggle concealers never managed to get his shade properly, so he tried to avoid the problem altogether.

Yet for the past three days he couldn’t rest well: his nights were plagued by nightmares, darkness and guilt. During the day he tried to distract himself, diving headfirst into schoolwork. They had to write an essay on the Gargoyle Strike of 1911, which was a very easy and effortless thing, but Blaise couldn’t focus on it. His mind kept on wandering, to a light haired idiot with soft eyes and a crystalline laugh.

He hadn’t made a contact with Neville, who had also been distant and cold during their last Transfiguration class. Blaise had meant to wait a bit, to make peace and finally say those words that hitched at the back of his throat since he had first discovered them, but Neville had sprinted out of the class, running away as fast as he could. He had begun to actively look for him, waiting for him next to the greenhouses or outside of the Great Hall, roaming the Herbology section on the library, hoping to run into him, even sending him a note during supper.

Neville received that little piece of parchment that said only ‘ _look at me’_ , but he tore it down to pieces and left it next to his plate, in full display for Blaise to see and get the message.

He had hurt him, badly. And he didn’t know how to deal with his emotions and with the consequences of his actions. So he did what he did best in those type of situations: ignore the negative outcome and push forward pridefully, as if it didn’t bother him, while the pain was eating him from the inside.

The Slytherin common room was quiet, as it had been in the past couple of days after the Incident. Draco was back from the infirmary in the foulest mood ever and refused to speak about it all, so everyone kept mostly to themselves to avoid a meltdown. He and Theo were now talking back in their dormitory, With Crabble and Goyle guarding the perimeter and making sure no one interrupted them.

It was clear as day whose fault was the fight and for whom Draco worked, at least to those who cared about him and still had suspicions, but no one would snitch on them. They were Slytherins, after all.

Blaise was lounging in one of the couches near the hart, lazily reading to tempt his mind on finishing his work and be done with that bullshit before his headache grew three sizes bigger.

Suddenly, an unexpected weight landed on the other side of the couch, interrupting his train of thought. Pansy was staring expectantly at him, waiting for something as she sat with one leg over the other.

“Can I help you?” Blaise asked politely, listing in his mind every possible scenario where she would prop down in such an inelegant way.

“What happened with Schlongbottom?”

Out of all the possible things she might have said, that was the one Blaise had least considered. Sure, she might’ve realized that something was off, yet it was none of her business and she was usually non-invasive on her friends’ love lives, unless they came first to her.

“I have absolutely no idea of what you are talking about” he said calmly and impassively, turning a page of his copy of the ‘ _Major Riots of the Lesser Creatures in the XX° century’_. He didn’t want to talk about it, although it logically meant finding a solution to his issue. But he was not a Ravenclaw and logic wasn’t his chosen and favourite way.

“Bullshit” she yelled, grabbing a pillow and resting it over her legs, ready to attack, “What did you do?”  
“Why do you assume I’m in the wrong here?” Blaise snapped, closing his book harshly and leaning forward to glare at her.   
“Cause otherwise he’ll be trying to get your attention and to make it up to you” she said with a very irritating and annoying smirk on her black painted lips.  
“I am not doing anything like that!”  
“Yeah, you’re totally right! You, sir, are moping down already defeated. That’s worse! You’re a proud Slytherin, you shouldn’t give up like this!”

Blaise sighed and rested his head on his open palms: “That is the problem. I’m too bloody prideful and I said some bullshit that I didn’t mean” he admitted, refusing to look up at her and see her reaction.

Unfortunately, Pansy pried his hands away and with a kindness he had rarely seen from her, she said “Tell me everything from the beginning.”

And so he did: he told her how he panicked and wanted only to be comforted; how he had stumbled to conclusions and had let his fear and pride run their mouths; how he somehow had rendered sweet and bright Neville into a sad shell, emotionless over a stupid fight that neither wanted to have; how he had fucked up royally and didn’t know how to fix it.

“I don’t know if I deserve him…” he was about to finish, words dying in his throat as tears raised up at his eyes. He blinked them away before anyone could see them, staring mindlessly at the raging fire next to them.

Pansy hit him up with the pillow she had on her legs, “Okay, mate. This pity party of yours ends now. You fucked up, but that’s nothing a good and well-meant apology can do!” she cheered him, trying to make the hopeless situation better, but failing terribly. He was not in the mood for her games.  
“He won’t even look at me!” he admitted, his heart tightening and threatening to burst out of him as sadness engulfed him. He had tried his best, border-lining making a fool of himself, yet there was no reaction. Blaise didn’t know what hurt more: the fact that he was losing his focus in class or the lack of Neville.

No, he knew what hurt more, yet couldn’t bring himself to admit it.  
“Which is why you desperately need my assistance. You’re lucky I am way too kind-hearted” the vixen said, smiling like a Cheshire Cat and promising trouble, “and that I absolutely hate seeing you like this!” she finished, softening and placing a hand on his knee.  
“I thought I was doing a decent job, concealing my emotions…” he sarcastically claimed, aware that he looked a mess, but conscious that he could be able to pull it off as a simple Slytherin worried about exams.  
“Not from me, snobby. Now, I’ll need you tomorrow before dinner in the Charms classroom, and you better be prepared to take your man back. Salazar knows that I’ll hex you into next month if you don’t.”  
“What’s with all this goodness, Parkinson? That’s not really your colour” he said, yet nodded along to her plan, curious and impressed and hopeful.  
She jumped on her feet then, “Fuck me for caring about my bloody best friend. Schlongbottom makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you and I care about you. So you better make it right or I’ll make you regret it even more than you are doing right now.” She had determination written all over her face, a plan finishing to polish on her mind. “Now off you fucking go to bed, you need to be your best for tomorrow.”

He grabbed tighter his book and clutched it against his chest as he graciously rose up to his feet and began to wordlessly walk away as Pansy stared at the hart as if it held all the answers of the universe inside its fire. Then, before reaching the stairs that would lead him towards his room, he turned around, too curious to go to bed without an answer.

“Why the Charms classroom?”

“Flitwick owes me one” she only replied, as if it was an everyday business having a professor be in debt of a student.

“Do I want to know more?”

“I gave him a wardrobe makeover and he promised to do one thing without questions for me, as long as it was legal. Be glad I’m wasting it on you.”

He couldn’t explicitly thank her nor show her his appreciation, so he went with the next best thing: “Can I honestly admit that I’m terrified of you right now?”   
“As you should be, Zabini.”

*******

Blaise had been pacing the length of the Charms classroom three times now, probably leaving his imprint on the floor.

He trusted Pansy, the devil always came up with the best plans, but his nerves wouldn’t calm down and his mind conjured up all the possible scenarios where Neville didn’t show up or didn’t listen to him, or, or, or.

She had tried to put him at ease, to calm him down, cause ‘ _It’s not the end of the world!’_ But it was, at least for Blaise.

He had fucked up and was ready to amend, if only Neville let him. And that scared him more than anything.

As if on cue, the door to the classroom opened, the light from the outside corridor’s flames illuminating the floor and contouring a tall figure he knew way too well. He hid in the dark, waiting for the door to lock behind the Gryffindor as Pansy had instructed. She had enchanted it to remain locked until Blaise released the spell once they were done, and he hoped and prayed that for once in his life everything would go according to plan.

But, when he was with Neville, nothing usually did, which was why Blaise had become so fascinated to begin with. The more he got to know Neville, the harder he fell.

“Professor Flitwick?” Neville asked, caution on his voice as he moved into the classroom and the door slammed shut on its own will behind him. Blaise raised his wand and lit the flames in the room, lightening up Neville’s surprised face that mutated immediately in a pissed one.

“What do you want?” he asked, showing no emotion other than anger as he crossed his arms over his chest and walked to where Blaise stood still as rock, as if he had been petrified. Which, to be fair, he felt like he had the second Neville’s eyes locked on him and put him on the spot.

Suddenly, his great and meticulously rehearsed speech died on his lips, his mind blanked and his heart began to race. ‘ _Composure be damned_ ’ he told himself as he tried to gather up his scattered brain into coherent sentences, frantically running a hand over his short hair as he maintained the other boy’s look. Neville waited, patiently yet angrily, for him to explain, but Blaise could not speak. Shame burned down his entire body as he blinked away frustration and agony.

“I’m sorry” he eventually blurted out, not by the least satisfied with his poor choice of words.

Neville wasn’t impressed either: “I told you to leave me the fuck alone” he said, rage and hurt written all over his face. Blaise never knew when to shut up when he was afraid, but it had not troubled him much during the previous years. Truth to be told, he hadn’t been as terrified as he had recently in a very long time and, amongst the Slytherins, it was a common trait, the inability to hold certain emotions in.

_“Rule number twenty-three: be cold as ice when the situation demands it, but let your fire out when you’re safe.”_

And that had been the problem: he had never felt happier and safer in his entire stay at Hogwarts as when he was with Neville; they talked about everything and were comfortable with each other, and of course Blaise had to run his mouth and ruin everything.

“Neville, please I…” he said, growing more desperate by the moment. He needed to be heard, at the very least, he needed to explain that he was a mess and that he didn’t mean his words and that he felt empty without the Gryffindor.

“Do I look like I want your apologies?”

That struck Blaise up like lightening and everything clicked into place. Neville didn’t want an apology. He was upset, as he should’ve been and deserved to be, and by apologizing, that would mean that his pain and anger wasn’t seen. What Neville wanted and deserved was an explanation to Blaise’s irrational behaviour.  
“Please…” he started, walking closer and closer to the Gryffindor and stopping just outside of grasp, ready to close in at any second by jumping into Neville’s arms but giving him the space he needed.  
“What do you want, Zabini? To insult me some more?” Neville asked bitterly, freezing the blood in Blaise’s veins as he swallowed down hurt and terror. ‘ _Fair’_ he thought, straightening his shoulders and standing his ground.  
“I didn’t mean it, not a word and you know it.”  
Neville laughed resentfully, but still he didn’t walk away and that sprung hope in Blaise’s heart, “No, I actually don’t. Now open this bloody door or I’ll kick it down” he said, a flash of anger making his way across his eyes but disappearing quickly.  
“Pansy enchanted it. Wouldn’t know how to open it.” That was a lie, and a bad one per se, but Blaise couldn’t let this moment go.  
“Bloody perfect!”  
“Please, listen to me” he tried once more, letting all his emotions in his voice, breaking down the walls that he always had up. Always, except when he was with the damned plant-head that had weaselled his way into Blaise’s heart.  
“Why should I?”

“Because you are right to be upset about how I reacted. Because I was wrong, stupid and an asshole.”  
The sides of Neville’s mouth quirked up, although he tried to refrain himself from smiling. Scoffing, he moved to sit on a nearby desk, motioning for Blaise to continue, “You have five sentences, then you’ll open this bloody door.”

Usually, this version of Neville, the direct and effective and authoritative mask he used during their tutoring sessions, made Blaise lose his mind and slip into indecent thoughts, that lately had been acted upon, but now he couldn’t afford to wander off path.  
“…Fine, you’re right. Porca puttana, I don’t even know how to start” he lamented, trying to sort through his thoughts to gather the necessary words to express his internal turmoil. Should he grovel, begging for forgiveness, or should he carefully construct a situation where forgiveness was not necessary and they simply skipped the entire speech to snog in that very same classroom?  
“That’s two” Neville said, smirking and wetting his lips, sending a direct rush of blood away from Blaise’s brain.  
“You little… Those don’t count and you know it!” It almost felt like nothing had happened between them: Neville’s quick and snarky comments always got to him and managed to light up his days, especially when he then moved to bite his bottom lip to refrain his eruptive laugh. Blaise could die listening to Neville laugh and nothing else would’ve mattered.

But something had happened and wrongs needed to be righted, otherwise they’d each carry the burden of their illogical fight, which would become heavier. “ _Rule number fourteen: if you care about someone, don’t let anger simmer.”_

Tentatively, Blaise walked to sit on the desk near Neville, still maintaining his personal space open to let the other boy walk away, if he truly wanted to. “Alright, Imma start now” he cleared his throat, counting to ten and reminding himself that if he had managed to talk Goyle out of breaking every single bone in Professor Biggs’ body, who lacked bones but that had been a debate for another day, for giving Crabble a Troll and failing him on their Fourth year, that would mean that Blaise was able to talk himself in and out of every situation.

“I hate so much that I had a brilliant speech ready and you just swooped in and my mind went completely blank, it’s so awful.”

“You sure this is the direction you wanna go with your apology?” Neville huffed out a laugh, loosening a little his arms and visibly relaxing.

‘ _Yes’_ Blaise’s mind said, since things seemed to move already in his direction, but instead he remained on his unintentional path, truthful and honest: “NO! But I don’t know which direction I want my apology to go to, cause you’re actually here and I don’t know what to say and this only happens when I’m with you and I’m sorry I was such a moron, I was worried for Draco and lashed out, cause that’s the only thing I know how to do and you shouldn’t deal with my bullshit but please deal with me, cause it’s been three days and I haven’t slept cause I miss you and I love you and Sweet Suffering Bloody Baron I’m rambling, am I not? Okay, I’ll stop now.”

What followed was a very hard second where Blaise had to restrain himself from casting Obliviate and start all over while staring intensely at the wall in front of them purposefully avoiding Neville’s look.

“Say something, please?”  
“You’re cute when you ramble.”  
Blaise whipped his head around to look at Neville, who was shaking with silent giggles and looked like a ray of Lumos Maxima had just erupted in the room. He couldn’t believe that idiot sitting next to him! Rambling and generally speaking without a thorough thinking process behind the words wasn’t cute, it was unacceptable!

“I beg your pardon” he asked, disbelieving the entire situation.  
“On your knees then.”  
“NEVILLE!”

The Gryffindor couldn’t hold it anymore: he doubled down on himself, laughing to his heart content. It was joyous and contagious and it made Blaise follow suit, although in a less explosive way.

“I gotta apologize too” Neville said once they were gaining their breath.   
Blaise was confused: he had messed up with his words, Neville had just patiently waited for him to get back to his usual state and then lost his nerve, which was incredibly understandable.   
“What for?”

Neville sighed deeply and stood up in front of Blaise, looking at him with gravity in his eyes and sorrow in his face. “I ran away” he simply admitted, as if that had been the worst thing he had ever done, “I know that sometimes your head runs too fast and that you might say something you don’t mean, but when we ended up talking about that curse, I just couldn’t.” He shook his head as tears began to swirl in his eyes, but he blinked them away and kept on focusing on Blaise, who grabbed both of his hands and held them tightly.  
“You don’t have to explain…” he began, but Neville simply cut him off.  
“No, but I want to. Remember that Fake Moody showed us the Unforgivable Curses and that he did that one in front of me?”  
“Yes” Blaise said simply, rage sweeping his bones. He remembered how Draco, Crabble and Goyle had laughed at Neville’s discomfort, the panicked and almost ready to break down expression the Gryffindor wore on his face. Granger had screamt at the professor to stop, but Blaise saw the flash of pleasure that sick bastard had taken from Neville’s pain.

It had been a mercy, to leave him with the Dementors, for if he was still around, Blaise wouldn’t have stopped at anything to give him what he deserved. Even if they were not dating, that monstrous behaviour deserved to be punished severely.

He simply held Neville’s hands tighter, bringing him closer so that the Gryffindor was now standing in between Blaise’s legs and silently rubbed circles on his hand with his thumb, encouragingly and comfortingly.

“My parents…” Neville began, voice shaking as he kept on blinking away his tears, focusing on Blaise’s Slytherin tie, “They’re at Saint Mungo’s because of that. That monster, along with Draco’s aunt and two others, used the Cruciatus Curse on them and shattered their minds. That’s why he asked me of all people if I knew an Unforgivable Curse.” He gave out a huffed chuck, humourlessly and grimly. “They rendered them insane with their torture. It was right after You-Know-Who fell, because of… They thought my parents were somehow responsible or had answers or I don’t even know what went down in their sick minds. They broke them and that’s why I had to go live with Grandma.”

Blaise was speechless. Horror crept down his spine as his mind blanked. Neville had never told him specifically how he had come to move with his stern Grandmother, nor he ever talked about his parents, but he would’ve never imagined the reality to be so horrific. Of course Neville was guarded against Slytherins, of course he got easily upset whenever the conversation moved to particular spells, of course he had walked away from his awful and blind conclusions.

“And now, Draco was using it on Harry and I just...” he continued, unable to hold the tears any longer. Blaise stood up and wrapped his arms around his torso, bringing him down and holding him tightly. Neville’s hands fisted Blaise’s shirt as his head dropped on his shoulder and he began to sob, his entire body shaking. Blaise could feel his own eyes start to tear up and he didn’t try to stop himself.

He understood perfectly now, and Neville didn’t have to apologize for anything. If anything, this entire situation meant that Blaise was a shitty boyfriend, which he already knew.

After a few minutes, Neville untangled himself from Blaise, stepping back and drying his face with his hands. “Sorry, I got your shirt messed up” he joked, voice cracking.

“Don’t worry about it, Nev.” Blaise raised up his hands, bringing Neville’s along and placed a gentle kiss on both his knuckles, “Thank you for telling me” he said, voice barely above a whisper as he leant closer and placed his forehead against the Gryffindor’s.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry I reacted like that”

That forced Blaise to untangle himself from Neville and to pointily look at his boyfriend’s eyes, trying to convey all his emotion in a single glare: “Are you kidding me? You should’ve murdered me on the spot, or at least punched me. I was being an asshole” he reasoned calmly.  
“Yes, agreed,” Neville laughed, bright and crystalline, before he continued down his own personal rabbit hole: “but you didn’t know…”  
“Ignorance doesn’t justify anything” he finalized, signalling the end of this discussion. Neville could apologize to inanimate objects at the minimal occasion, as he had several times; the first time Blaise had seen him say he was sorry to a table he had accidentally walked into, he had doubled himself over with laughter and their tutoring session had begun ten minutes later, when he had finally regained control over his breathing. “Now say you’re sorry one more time, I dare you!” he laughed, aware that, as a Gryffindor, one of his traits was the inability of letting go of a bet.

During their Second Year, before the Basilisk attacks had begun, Marcus Flint, then captain of their Quidditch team, had dared Gryffindor’s Oliver Wood to a race down the Astronomy Tower, betting their next match over it: whoever lost, had to forfeit the match upfront. He had been joking, pulling an aimless prank, yet Wood was already racing down the side of the tower with his broom, almost close to hit the ground, when Flint called off the bet and Professor Sinistra fainted. In the end, Flint had to forfeit, for he made the bet in the first place and didn’t even participate to it.

As predicted, Neville wasn’t able to hold the dare: outraged, he opened his mouth, yelling “But I am sorry!” but Blaise had been faster, leaning forward and capturing Neville’s lips in his before he had even managed to finish his sentence.

As if on cue, the door unlocked, still remaining closed, as Neville plunged his hands on Blaise’s back, driving him closer and adjusting their bodies so they were touching everywhere.

Suddenly, Blaise’s brain screamt that Professor Flitwick might’ve come around at any moment, which made him lean away from Neville’s hot kisses. The Gryffindor voiced his complaints, brain already fogged by their heat.

“Wanna go somewhere else?” Blaise asked, voice low and conspiratorially as he jumped off the desk and held tight Neville’s hand.  
“Lead the way quickly” was the only reply, betraying an eagerness that Blaise felt in his own bones.

_“Rule number thirty: Hogwarts’ best place to snog privately is the empty cupboard closet near the Defence Against Dark Arts Classroom that Apollyon Pringle used to store his romance novels and that nobody uses since.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW the bit about Oliver Wood and Flint is a Headcanon of mine. But I can 100% guarantee that the bet shit is true: as a Gryffindor myself, I cannot resist a bet or a dare for the life of me  
> GLOSSARY:  
> 'Porca puttana' literally means filthy whore, but in this case (AND ALSO GENERALLY SPEAKING DURING REAL LIFE CONVERSATIONS) is somewhere along the lines of 'Holy Shit'


	10. Chapter 10

For the first time in a long time, Blaise was late to something important.

Not fashionably late, in those cases he planned ahead to the exact second to make his grand entrance and charm the socks off everyone. No, this time he was terribly late out of coincidence, a mix of bad luck and a lot of words that came out of Theo’s mouth, despite his favour of briefness.

He had been intercepted by his roommate just after the funeral, a sharp tug at his sleeve that gave no room for interpretation, as Theo led the way to a more secluded area of the country yard, which was, surprisingly enough, empty. ‘Probably everyone is going to Hogsmeade’ Blaise reasoned as he followed his friend in silence, neither of them uttering a word.

When they reached their destination, the blond began his speech. Theo had used more words trying to make him understand the reasons behind his acceptance of his father’s Death Eaters’ legacy and the subsequent joining of said organization, and why it would be beneficial for such a promising Pureblood Slytherin like Blaise himself to follow along the Cause, especially in their current time and date, than he had ever used on an essay he had been truly passionate about.

Blaise had to admit that Theo brought up some valid points: Dumbledore was the only thing standing in the way of the Dark Lord, and now that he was dead, there was no one stopping him from gaining his so desperately sought after power. First Hogwarts and then the Ministry would fall under him, making it impossible to find a safe haven for anyone who dared to oppose him.

Yet had been raised in families that didn’t follow along dictatorships, with his father being the exception, the black sheep. His Grand-père fought against Grindelwald when he came to France rather actively, opposing the Dark Wizard and telling little Blaise all the stories from the résistance, and his Nonno had always told him all about Italian Muggle Politics during the Wars, and they never ended well for the Fascist regime.

And he remembered all too well the look on his mother’s face whenever he brought the subject up. The Dark Lord had ruined his family and Blaise would not fall prey to him as well.

When Theo finished talking, looking drained of all the energy he had ever had, yet proud for some twisted reasons, Blaise had to control himself and prevent the laughter that was threatening to erupt out of him. Nott must’ve thought that he had given some rational points, but his words did the exact opposite of what was intended for them: if nothing, they fortified the knowledge that the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord would be on the wrong side of their History. He just hoped that his friend would see the error of his way before it was too late.

Instead of answering, he simply nodded once in understanding, keeping his opinions to himself. The entire situation was downright hilarious.

Blaise had thought, at the beginning of the year, that Draco was the more brainwashed of the pair, yet, after the Death Eaters attacked, he and Pansy had found a letter from the blond on his bed, all of his belongings gone and the room missing one of its five members. In that letter, Draco explained them what in Salazar’s name had happened.

How the Dark Lord had forced him to find a way for his followers to penetrate the castle, how he had been ordered to kill Dumbledore, how they gave him the Dark Mark and how he had accepted it all to protect his family. His father would’ve been tortured, Draco claimed, and his mother killed, if he didn’t follow the Dark Lord’s wishes. He didn’t want to do it, none of it. But he still did as he was told, he repaired an old and broken Vanishing Cabinet that was in the Room of Requirement and he made sure it linked back to one identical one, that still worked, in Borgin and Burkes and made sure it was a safe passage for the Death Eaters. He had worked on it the entire year, he claimed, as to explain why he didn’t pay attention to the classes anymore. He then went on, to their present, on how it was all going to go down that night. How he was supposed to kill Dumbledore and then flee. How Snape would’ve taken control of the school and how things would have changed, all starting with that night.

Blaise had been in shock as he read his friend’s words, with Pansy in a similar state.

They both knew that Draco had been tasked with something big, that he was working in secrecy and that he didn’t really want to do any of it, yet still did. But that wasn’t an excuse, nor that letter was an apology. Draco needed someone he trusted to know the truth and to also be able to claim that he did all of that without his will, that he had been forced.

Draco Malfoy did not look for redemption, he looked for an alibi. He didn’t follow the Dark Lord’s orders because he was a loyal and faithful servant, he did it because he was forced. And he had left records of it.

Theo, on the other hand, was the opposite. He had been blinded by his father’s beliefs, he had joined the Death Eaters because that had been the only thing he had been taught since he was born. To hate, to be superior, to be a Pureblood.   
As soon as the attack was over, he had marched into the Slytherin common room, exalted and high off adrenaline. He had yelled that Dumbledore was dead, eliciting contrasting reactions from his House mates. People had screamt, both in glee and agony, joy and fear. The common room was divided in those whose parents and relatives had been and were still favouring the dark side, and thus had taught them that way, and in those who didn’t want anything to do with the Dark Lord and his bigotry. And, in the midst of it, stood Theodore Nott, drunk on the scene, mentally tallying the reactions, staring expectantly at him with blown wide eyes, waiting for a smile of acknowledgment.

But Blaise couldn’t smile, couldn’t agree with the atrocities that were being committed. All he knew was that Dumbledore being dead meant that Hogwarts wasn’t a safe space anymore. Not only for those who opposed him openly, like Saint Potter and company, but also not a safe space for those who would prefer to remain neutral to the fight.

Not that he would’ve been, neutral to the fight.

Once again, days later, he stood in front of Theo, who was waiting for his reply when Blaise could do nothing but stare.

“I know you will do what’s right” Theo said, taking his silence as an agreement into the Death Eater’s path. In his mind, Blaise could not let the irony go. He would do what was _right_ , by not joining the murderous tyrant and his sycophantic followers. He would do what was right, by fighting against the atrocities that they would commit and had committed. He would do what was right by not following into the trap that was clearly laid ahead of him.

He would do what was right because he was a Slytherin, Salazar Damn Them All, and he was way too intelligent and proud to fall along mindlessly the plan of a villain whose sole purpose was to bring back the Dark Ages of Magic.

But he still didn’t reply. ‘ _Rule number thirty-six: a vague silence is the best weapon when you don’t want to say something.’_

He just nodded along, wordlessly leaving Theo and walking back into the castle, slower than he intended, as if in a trance.

He knew that Neville was waiting for him in the Transfiguration classroom, after all, he had been the one to send the Gryffindor the owl, not caring anymore about who knew about them. Thankfully, though, no one paid attention to the inconspicuous bird that left a letter right on Neville’s plate, nor did he open it in the Great Hall.

He had been brief, only telling him to meet him there as soon as Dumbledore’s funeral was over, yet he knew Neville could read the desperation in between the lines: they were running out of time, the school year was completed and there was no certainty that they would be back the next year. Blaise probably would’ve, considering he was a Slytherin and his best friends were all apparently Death Eaters, but he knew that Neville, Valiant, Brave and Selfless Neville, would fight alongside whoever was on their opposite side.

Since the night of the attack, which had been dubbed the ‘ _Battle of the Astronomy Tower’_ by the students, they had managed to see each other less than they had both hoped, only once, with the help of Lovegood and Pansy.

It had happened on July 1st, all exams and the remaining classes had been postponed, the students allowed to remain in the castle to give their final goodbyes to their Headmaster. The tension between the Houses had been at its highest, and no one wanted to be around Slytherins, which was understandable but still hurtful.

Nobody cared about why he had left the common room just after lunch that day, not with Pansy loudly telling him that she’d meet him there, to just go ahead. He had slowly nodded and all but ran all the way to the History of Magic classroom, fearing that he wouldn’t be there or that he wouldn’t show up.

They had planned the little rendezvous just the day before, because the final exam of Transfiguration was coming and Neville had slipped into a panicked state and Blaise were there to comfort him and give him the boost of confidence he deserved. But then the attack happened and the entire world shifted on its axis.

He had seen, both at breakfast and lunch, that Neville was visibly distressed and that he had even refused to meet his gaze, but that was expected. After all, a bunch of idiots that brought shame down Salazar’s good name had killed their Headmaster and ruined their final days.

Except that it was not expected, because he was Neville, and he was the only person in the entirety of Hogwarts that knew how far ran Blaise’s disdain for the Dark Lord’s work. He could not vent into the Slytherin common room, surrounded by sons and daughters and nieces and nephews and grandchildren of all sorts of Death Eaters. He could not complain in his dormitory, with four out of the five people living there committed, willingly or not, into that lifestyle.

But he could always talk to Neville, he could always listen to the Gryffindor talk about pots for hours to end without being bored, while simultaneously taking his mind off the situation.

He prayed to Merlin’s soul that Neville wouldn’t back down from him now.

Thankfully for his sanity, he was there, just about to enter the classroom they both know would be empty. Not bothering to check if someone was nearby, he had ran to the other boy, smacking him into the still closed door and fitting his head in the crook of his neck while his arms clang desperately to the Gryffindor’s waist.

“B, someone might see us” he had said, but the corridor was empty and Blaise didn’t care anymore. ‘ _Let them’_ he had wanted to say, but instead he had just nodded along. It would be irrational, nay nearly suicidal, to come out of the shadows now. If Hogwarts hadn’t been ideal before, it would be even less now.

As soon as they were inside, the door closed behind their backs, Neville had resumed their position, locking lips with Blaise’s, the kisses desperate and frantic. Blaise, as always whenever Neville kissed him, couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t the boy next to him, that was pushing him hard against a desk and that was ravishing him like _that_.

But Neville’s body had been silently shaking with sobs, his lips trembling as he held onto Blaise for stability. Soon, the tears had come and Blaise was now holding him close, whispering sweet nothing into his hair as he smoothed down his hands over his back, comforting him.

“Sorry” Neville had then whispered, drying up his eyes and sitting down, his hands never leaving Blaise’s.

“Do not apologise for feeling, Nev.” He had brushed his thumb over the back of his hand, a soothing gesture that they had shared many times, in way less stressful situations. “How are you holding up?”   
“Hellish. The entire House’s broken. Harry is a bloody shell, I saw Ginny break down twice, even McGonagall’s not working.” Blaise had flinched at that: he knew that Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were close, but he couldn’t imagine how devastated she was. And if she wasn’t ‘ _working’_ , as Neville had put it, it meant that Hogwarts was doomed, for good.

“This is bad, B, proper bad.”  
“I… I’m so sorry” he exhaled, putting his head down on his palms, hiding the shame that was visible on his features. A dozen _what ifs_ rushed over his head. He should’ve seen this coming, he suspected something bad was about to happen, after all. But he could never imagine, in his worst nightmares, the gravity of Draco’s actions.

He couldn’t even imagine Draco to be capable of such villainy.

Neville, it seemed, had found amusing his distress. “Why are you apologising? Taking up on my habit? You’ve done nothing wrong!”  
“Au contraire, I did nothing” he had said, softly and ashamed, “I knew Draco had been up to something wicked, yet I did nothing. I should’ve… I don’t know, report him or something, all those times he sneaked out to repair that fucking wardrobe and shit like that. Porca puttana, I’ve been so blind. I… Just because he’s my friend, I let him get away with all this. And now we’re all paying the consequences of his cowardice… mi dispiace, Nev, It’s all my fault…”  
“Do not, under any circumstances, say that again” Neville had calmly spoken, with a voice so impassive and cold that it simultaneously froze Blaise’s blood and made it boil up. Then, he had softened his gaze and had seated down next to Blaise, his turn to be the comforting one: “It is so not your fault. Don’t you dare say it is. How could’ve you known what was really going down? It’s only You-Know-Who’s fault, all of this, since the beginning.”  
“But Draco…”  
“You’re not responsible for his idiotic actions. He made his choices, but you have made yours as well.”

Neville had left no room for argument, nor that there would’ve been any. Neville knew what was inside Blaise’s heart, truly, and that was all that mattered.

Afterwards, they had not done much talking, leaving threads hanging as they rolled happily on the floor, uncaring about the storm that was raging outside of their little personal bubble.

To Blaise it had felt too much like an empty goodbye and he could not live with himself unless he rectified his actions and properly made Neville understand that he would be on his, their, side, no matter how much it would hurt him to betray his friends.

But they had stabbed him first: it would start with Muggles, then it would be Muggleborns, then everyone who didn’t conform with the Dark Lord’s ideas, and, no matter how much of a Pureblood he was, he would always be marginalized by his personal preferences and the colour of his skin.

He moved quickly through the castle, for once the stairs not moving when they were not supposed to, and he finally reached his destination.

Steadying his rushing heart, he opened the door, finally breathing without a heavy weight on his lungs now that he saw Neville, causally seated on one of the desks, hair and tie askew. When he saw Blaise, he broke out in a blinding smile, so at odds with the circumstances.

Blaise could do nothing but follow suit, his own lips stretching happily as he moved closer and kissed him, still seated.

“What did you think of the funeral?” Blaise asked, not removing his mouth from his favourite spot on Neville’s neck, a place that elicited such sweet sounds that Blaise could not resist.

“It was a nice funeral” came the breathless reply, rushed and hushed and followed suit by one of those little noises.  
“Agreed. Not gay enough though.”

Neville then tangled his hands on Blaise’s hair, that had now grown longer than he wanted it to and was curling over his ears. “B, nothing’s gay enough for you.”

He moved slightly away, unwilling to remove himself from their hug yet needing to, to convey his meaning properly: “He was the most flamboyant wizard in history! Look me in the eye and tell me that he was straight.”

Neville snorted at that, shaking his head slightly and resting his forehead over Blaise’s, “My grandma said he his longest ‘ _friendship’_ was with Grindelwald and he didn’t fight him initially due to a _‘blood pact’_. So yeah, not straight, that’s a given.”

“See!? It was so disrespecting of them to give such a straight eulogy…!”He couldn’t finish his sentence, not when Neville had cut him off so sweetly by mirroring his earlier action. All Blaise could do was to hold on tightly at Neville’s red and golden tie, closing his eyes and savouring the movements the Gryffindor was making with his mouth over his neck.

But he was a man with a mission, Merlin Damn It, and he should’ve follow through. As usual, he never took in consideration the simple fact that Neville rendered him speechless and useless with a single glance, thus ruining all his monologues.

With his entire being screaming at him, he removed himself for the second time in a few minutes, his body aching for the contact.

“I didn’t write you to meet me _just_ to snog” he said, not his proudest choice of words, yet once they were out there was nothing he could do to take control over them. At least, they managed to convey the message, or at least a part of it.

“I figured as much” Neville calmly admitted, patting the empty spot next to him on the desk “What’s wrong? We agreed we’d have to keep a low profile and that we’d see each other after school was over.”  
“It already pretty much is over and I can’t get on the train without properly goodbye.”  
“Isn’t the mark I left on you enough goodbye?”

“Nev!” he yelled outraged, a rose colour starting to spread over his cheeks as he looked over at the smug Gryffindor, who calmly replied, without missing a beat: “Blaise, we already planned on seeing each other in Muggle London. We don’t need to ‘ _proper goodbye’_!”

He would never admit, not even under torture, that he might not be ineffable and that he might have forgotten their plans, in the heat of the murder. “Are we still doing that?” he asked, cautiously staring at the floor to avoid Neville’s eyes.  
“You-know-who can’t keep me from going out on a date with my boyfriend!”

Blaise was now sure he looked akin a tomato. He was utterly unable to process Neville’s words without blushing.

They had agreed on being exclusive since the beginning of their relationship, but never dwelled on terms of endearment, mainly due to Blaise’s refrain from using them due to his mother’s rule. Yet, after they had both professed their feelings after their idiotic fight, Neville had brought up the subject of calling him ‘ _his boyfriend’_. Blaise went, in the span of three seconds, from spent to fully awake, vigorously agreeing.

They did not leave the cupboard closet immediately afterwards, nor in the next half an hour either.

“What are you even gonna do? Fight the Dark Lord over the possibility of holding my hand in a Muggle arena?” he asked once his blood had stopped moving into organs he did not need at the moment. He hadn’t gone there just to shag, after all!   
“Seamus told me they’re called cinema” Neville corrected him. Those were the pros of having not one, but three roommates that were so immersed into the Muggle culture. Although he had once shared with Blaise that Saint Potter was not so used to their terms and customs, for reasons unbeknownst to anyone other than Weasley and Granger.

“And, yes” Neville continued, proudly, “that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’m a Gryffindor, that’s what we’re programmed to do!”

He couldn’t control the laughter that erupted out of him. Neville continuously managed to surprise him, especially with one liner like that: the sarcastic and humorous Gryffindor was an endless well of happiness, even in such grim times.

He had been wrong at the beginning, thought, thinking that the Sorting Hat had messed up: Neville did belong in Gryffindor, his morals and disregard of the rules said as much in many occasions. He knew when to stand up for something and when to back down, he was always friendly and kind. But he had a ruthlessness that Blaise could never expect out of him. Not out of sweet, chubby Schlongbottom.

But that was also due to his lack of involvement with him. If he had pulled his head out of his arse sooner, who could tell what would’ve been of either of them.

“I’ll do it too” Blaise said suddenly, after a quiet moment had passed between them.  
“What?”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to recall the monologue he had prepared before the funeral. He wasn’t even surprised at this point, to find out that all words had suddenly disappeared and that his brain was leaving him to wing his masterfully crafted speech.

“Fighting. I’ll fight too. On your side.” He internally flinched at his poor choice of words, but, once again, they conveyed his intent almost flawlessly.  
“You want to join the Order?” Neville cautiously asked, as if he was unsure of where Blaise’s words were coming from.

“I don’t particularly want to join shit. But I will do what’s necessary…”  
“What do you mean?”

He sighed, turning fully and grasping Neville’s hands in his. “I need you to be safe, Neville. I’ll do whatever to keep you safe.” He hoped the Gryffindor would understand him, the desperation he felt at the thought of him hurt, or worse.  
“When September comes, if the world doesn’t end first… you know I won’t stay put” he said stoically, his jaw clenched and his hands slightly shaking. Blaise covered them with his, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin to bring him understanding and comfort.

“I know and I love you for it, so much. But who protects the Mighty Gryffindor when he’s protecting the world?”

It was Neville’s turn to blush now, but he still maintained his cold demeanour: “So that’s where you come in?”  
“Think about it. I can be your eyes and ears inside. Theo already thinks I’m being precious and taking my time to become one of theirs” he said, bile raising at the thought of joining the Death Eaters and sadness at the knowledge that two of his closest friends were already lost in that dark path, “It won’t be hard for me to infiltrate.”  
Neville abruptly removed his hands from his and rose up: “So that’s what you’ll do? Spy for both sides?” he asked, his words laced with venom and what Blaise assumed would be regret.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, you know those idiots could never convince me to join their racist movement” he said, getting on his feet as well and moving closer to Neville. “I’ll fight for what is right” he simply said, hoping for the Gryffindor to understand him fully.

“Very heroic of you, Slytherin” Neville said, visibly relaxing and showing him away playfully with his shoulder  
“Very intelligent and cunning I’d say” he chuckled, before taking back his grim conclusion: “Heroes don’t get to live long.”

Neville nodded in agreement, running a hand over his hair and messing it up even further than it already was. It had grown longer in those past months that they had been together, it now reached almost at the base of his neck with soft curls. Blaise had spent countless times with his hands tangled there, never once bringing up the subject of cutting it and never regretting that decision. His own was meticulous and he prided himself on it, but he had grown fond of the dishevelled look Neville constantly had, whether after a discussion of Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration or a proper snogging or, in most cases, both.

And Neville’s hair couldn’t look like he had just ran his hands through it if it was short. Or it could, but it wouldn’t elicit the same reaction out of Blaise.

He would be content for eternity, standing happily in that single moment, kissing lazily and then heatedly and fervently. But the world had crashed over them and they had to get back to reality somehow. It was Neville, after some moments spent in the arms of the other, to remind him: “Train leaves in the morning” he simply said, sorrow dripping over his features as Blaise untangled them and took a step back, never once removing his hand from Neville’s.   
Blaise nodded bleakly, before cheerfully claiming: “I’ll see you next week in London, caro. Don’t forget to write me.”

Just because times were dire now, that didn’t mean that they had to lose their light, right?  
“I won’t, flower” Neville fired back, winking and causing Blaise’s brain to shortcut momentarily.   
“I told you to stop calling me like that!” he indignantly yelled, enjoying the way Neville’s laugh warmed his insides and seemed to bring colour to the world.  
“But you’re so cute when you blush!”   
He didn’t reply, not really. Blaise simply moved once again closer and planted a soft and chaste kiss on Neville’s lips, savouring the way he still giggled at the softest of actions, even after all the time they had passed exploring each other’s bodies, and imprinting that scene into his memory. ‘ _Who knows when we will be like this next_ ’ he thought darkly.

He left the room first, conscious that, if it was up to him, he’d never walk away, not from Neville. Closing the door at his back had been almost painful and it left him in a state of somewhat trance.

He walked back to his dormitory in silence, lost deep in his thoughts. He didn’t encounter anyone on his way back and was grateful for it. That left him some necessary time to structure a persona in his mind that would fit the details he had to fake and, if someone stumbled on him walking in an empty corridor grimly, that would meant that Blaise would have to start acting sooner than he had hoped.

With each step he took toward the common room, his conviction strengthened: he would do it, he would spy from the inside and report back to Neville, who would then tell those who needed to know.

He would do what was right, even if it pained him to lie to Draco and Theo and even Pansy. He did not know for sure where her loyalties laid, but he wasn’t willing to bet on them. After all, he had already started to lie to her.

He had told her that they had broken up days ago and she had believed him. His performance had been masterful, he had even managed to throw in a fake tear as he sorrowfully told her that Neville had claimed he ‘ _just couldn’t be with someone like him anymore’_. Given their current circumstances, it could have whatever meaning the witch could imagine, but thankfully she did not ask more.

When he entered the common room, his character was completely mapped out in his mind. He knew how to lie flawlessly and was an excellent actor, and that was going to be his most important role just yet.

Whatever came, he’d do what was right.

**_THE END_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GLOSSARY  
> "Grand-père" and "Nonno" both mean "Grandfather", respectively in French and Italian  
> "Au contraire" is French for "On the contrary"  
> "Porca Puttana" here is akin 'Fuck!"  
> "Mi dispiace" is 'I'm sorry'  
> "Caro" means "Dear"  
> ***  
> AAAAAND it's done! eight months of labour and passion.  
> Thank you so much to anyone who liked, commented and shared this fic, thank you all really, from the bottom of my Gryffindor heart!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You So Much For Reading This!!!  
> please don't forget to leave a comment and a kudo!  
> And pls share it to your friends if you want to!  
> Special thanks to Melipedia, my wonderful beta, who gave me the idea by asking a birthday fic about this pair, that then evolved into something more.  
> Thanks again,  
> Till next time  
> jo


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